


Money Moves

by mmaree



Series: Money Moves [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Angry Sex, Banter, Bottom Zayn, Business, Businessman Liam Payne, CEO Liam, Contracts, Denial of Feelings, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Engagement, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Family, Fluff and Angst, Hate to Love, Humor, Jealousy, Literary References & Allusions, M/M, Pining, Rich Liam, Secretary Zayn Malik, Sharing a Bed, Smut, Snark, technically he's a CTO
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-12 14:34:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 74,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13549374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmaree/pseuds/mmaree
Summary: “I’ll cut straight to the chase,” Liam announces. He leans forward, and Zayn is met with steely eyes and steepled fingers. “I’m willing to offer you fifty grand if you’ll enter into a small…partnership with me. This would be in addition to your salary at Payne Innovations, of course. Think of it as a bonus.”Zayn narrows his eyes. “What kind of partnership?”“A fake engagement.”“Oh,” Zayn says, relieved it’s nothing illegal. “Wait—what?”“A fake engagement,” his boss repeats slowly, as if he’s convinced Zayn’s comprehension skills are significantly lacking. “For six months. Maybe less if I can pull it off sooner but don’t worry—you’ll be paid the full sum regardless of how long it takes.”Zayn’s suspicious, and he doesn’t even know why. There’s nothing to be suspicious of because, clearly, Liam’s lost the plot. Zayn’s having a conversation with a complete nutter. There’s no other reasonable explanation.He clears his throat, searches Liam’s eyes for a sign he's taking the piss. “How long what takes?”A smile plays at Liam’s lips. “For me to be hired as the CTO at Titan Technologies.”~ Fake Engagement AU with Boss!Liam and Secretary!Zayn ~





	1. (in which Zayn goes for an interview)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [suburbanmotel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/suburbanmotel/gifts).



> A Fake Engagement AU with Boss!Liam and Secretary!Zayn. 
> 
> Suburbanmotel...you've probably already figured out I chose your hate to love prompt. Thanks for the great ideas, love, and also for allowing me the freedom to get creative with them. Hope you enjoy. :)
> 
> Title from "Bodak Yellow" by Cardi B.

 

When Zayn chose English as his course of study, he didn’t have ‘secretary’ or even ‘administrative assistant’ as his end goal.  But that doesn't change the fact that he’s standing in front of an impressive high-rise with polished shoes, newly-manicured nails, and his CV stashed in his attaché. 

He didn’t have the heart to tell his mum or dad he was applying for secretarial positions, that he’d exhausted all other options and pipe dreams.  Fuck, he’s lucky to have even landed _this_ interview because he doesn’t know the first thing about office work.  He’s willing to learn, though, and he can type.  He also cleans up well, if he’s honest (and he generally is). 

Still, he’s got bugger-all experience in secretarial work.  He’s got bugger-all experience _period._

So unless he wants to do an unpaid internship or go back to uni (which isn’t even an option right now), then he’s gotta get some—experience, that is.  He needs to show that he’s dependable and employable and all that rubbish.

A clock chimes as he pushes through green marble doors that make him think of some Wall Street bank from the types of films he doesn’t watch.  The ones about power and money and everything he finds slightly nauseating as someone who’s studied English at university, someone with _principles_ and _ideals_.

And an empty wallet of course.

“How can I direct you?”

The girl at the imposing front desk attempts to look like she wants to be there as she sizes him up.  He wonders if he ‘passes’ in her mind, if he’s covered up most of his tattoos and if the knot in his tie looks alright even though it took him twenty minutes and three YouTube videos to pull it off.  

He clears his throat, tries not to look so stiff in his new suit.  “Yes, I’ve an interview with Payne Innovations.”

“Kind of late for an interview, isn’t it?” she questions like she’s testing him, and Zayn’s not sure how to answer that.  He’s not the one who scheduled it.  She clacks her orange nails on the desk impatiently.  “Who are you interviewing with then?”

Zayn blanks.  He knew the woman’s name as he was walking here from the station, recited it practically the whole way but now it’s gone up in smoke.  “Um, I forgot?”  He fumbles for the phone in his pocket.  “You wouldn’t happen to know who I would—”

“I’ll send you to Harry Styles; he’ll know what to do with you,” she cuts him off.  She’s giving him a look now, and yeah, he definitely didn’t ‘pass.’ 

(Not that he gives a shit really.  He’s not trying to impress her; he’s not trying to impress anyone.

Except he is because he graduated nearly three months ago, and he needs a _j-o-b_ before the money from his last student loan runs out.)

“Take the lift to the seventeenth floor.  Payne’s HR is directly across from the lifts; you can’t miss it.”  She regards him doubtfully, almost as if she’s questioning her last statement.  Zayn thanks her anyway, grips his attaché tighter, and starts off.

When he arrives at the office with _Harry Styles, Senior HR Director_ , etched in glass, he almost decides to pack it in.  The office is foreboding is the thing, all sorts of posh, and he feels like a fish out of water.  He doesn’t even know what he’s doing here really as he hovers in front of the open door, why he even bothered to come this far.  They’re going to take one look at him and tell him to bugger off. 

He’s about to save them the trouble when he’s spotted. 

“Brilliant!  You must be Harry’s 6:15,” someone declares in an undeniably Irish accent.  It doesn’t take Zayn long to match the voice to the face because the massive office is practically deserted.  There are only a couple of older women typing towards the back, not counting the boy with blue eyes and welcoming smile staring expectantly up at him. 

Zayn can feel his palms sweat as he steps forward.  “I’m Zayn Malik,” he states as if it’s an answer to the boy’s question.  He discretely wipes his palms on his newly-pressed trousers and waits as the boy scans the screen in front of him.

“Yep, that’s you!” he confirms happily.  “Apparently, you were supposed to interview with Barb, Harry’s assistant, but she’s got a sick kid and had to go home.  Some of us are so lucky!” he tacks on merrily. 

“Do you always work this late?” Zayn asks before realising how it probably comes off.  “I mean, not that I mind working late of course.  I was just wondering, like—”

The boy chuckles.  “Nah, just when Harry needs me.  I’m Niall Horan, by the way, head administrative assistant for Human Resources.”  He stands and offers his hand like Zayn is somebody, not just a job seeker who’s probably not going to make it past the first interview.

“Pleasure.”

“Harry told me to look over your CV and get your paperwork sorted because he might be running a few minutes late.  He’s got another candidate in there,” Niall explains, thumbing towards a door behind him.

Zayn tries not to look too defeated when he hands over the papers Niall requested before taking a seat in one of the lime green chairs that look a lot more comfortable than they really are.  As the other man peruses the documents, Zayn tries not to ponder the implications of an interview running over.  Maybe the person inside Harry Styles’ office is going for the same job as Zayn.  Maybe she or he already has it even.  Maybe they’re signing the necessary paperwork now and—

“You’ve an English degree?” Niall interrupts Zayn’s thoughts, not bothering to mask his surprise.

“Um, yes.  Yes, I do.”  He clears his throat.  “Is that bad?”

“Couldn’t tell you either way, mate.  I just know I don’t see many of those around here.”  The administrative assistant shuffles the papers into a stack, adding a cover page and placing them in a portfolio with _Payne Innovations_ stamped on the front.

At that moment, an inner office door opens and a tall young man in a striped designer suit steps out.  “We’ll be in contact with you,” he tells the professional-looking bloke shaking his hand.  The man thanks him in return, looks smugly at Zayn, and exits the office.

Once he’s gone, the Human Resource Director’s expression unfreezes.  “Scratch that one off the list,” he informs Niall with a sigh.  “Not what we’re looking for at all.  Sometimes, I wonder why I even bother to list desired qualifications when half of these punters clearly don’t bother reading them.”

Zayn sinks a little deeper into his chair.

Niall coughs, hiding a smile.  “Your 6:15, Zayn Malik, is here; I’ve his paperwork ready for you.”

Harry’s gaze lands on Zayn, and he offers a disarming smile.  “Come right in, Mr. Malik.”  He closes the door behind Zayn, makes small chat while he peruses the portfolio Niall delivered to him. 

Zayn looks around.  Harry’s office is _nice_ , full of green plants and interesting, quirky artwork.  It feels even more spacious than it actually is with the windows lining the longest side of the wall and the simple IKEA-type furniture arranged just so. 

Harry seems nice, too.  He introduces himself by his first name only (and Zayn reciprocates even though it probably isn’t necessary).  Harry’s a young professional but doesn’t seem like the knobs he’s seen walking around the City with their Bluetooth earpieces and obnoxious looks of superiority.  Zayn thinks it wouldn’t be so bad working for someone like Harry—even if it is a secretary gig.

“You read English at university?” Harry asks suddenly, brow raised.  He sounds way more posh than he did earlier, and Zayn makes a mental note to tone his accent down another notch.

Zayn tugs at his shirt sleeve.  “Yes, that’s correct.”

Harry makes a non-committal noise, then licks his thumb and flips the page loudly.  Zayn runs a hand through his quiff.  In his mind, he runs through other places he might apply to because this doesn’t look promising.

Maybe he should’ve taken that job at Sainsbury’s.  At least he’d have _some_ income coming in.  At least he wouldn’t be skint and desperate to take any job they offer.

Harry closes the folder and kicks back in his chair.  He seems more relaxed now, and it puts Zayn somewhat at ease until his interviewer opens his mouth:  “Tell me about yourself, Zayn.”  Harry stares directly at him, not the paper, not his notes, and it’s almost as unnerving as the question itself.  Zayn wants to complain that it’s not a real question, that it’s too open-ended, but he figures that’s not going to help his cause either.

Zayn starts talking.  He goes into stream-of-consciousness mode, saying the first thing that comes to mind as if he were doing an exercise for a creative writing class.  It appears that Harry’s eating it up so he just continues on with the mini autobiography.  Harry chuckles at one point when Zayn’s telling an anecdote about growing up in Bradford, and yeah, at least that means Zayn hasn’t totally cacked it.

There are a series of questions after that—simple ones requiring simple answers—and Zayn’s relieved.  Harry verifies Zayn’s results on the pre-interview tests he completed online before giving him a radiant smile. 

“I think you’d be a great fit for our company, Zayn—a great fit for a particular opening I’ve been trying to fill for a while now.  How soon could you start?”

To say Zayn’s stunned would be an understatement.  He’s fucking flabbergasted.  “Immediately?”

Harry seems proper chuffed.  “Brilliant!”  He snaps Zayn’s folder shut.  “I should tell you that any offer of employment with Payne Innovations is, of course, contingent upon a successful background check, but I doubt we’ll have any issues there.  You seem like a straight-shooter to me.”

“Thank you,” Zayn says as Harry squints at him and nods.

“I’ll have you come in to fill out paperwork tomorrow if that suits you.  We’ll also go over all the onboarding procedures as well as compensation and our quite attractive benefits package.  Any questions?”

Zayn clears his throat.  “If I may…what’s the title of the position?”

Harry chuckles at himself.  “Yes, you’d probably want to know that.”  His eyes glimmer as he answers, “administrative assistant to our Chief Technology Officer.”

Zayn licks his lips.  He wants to ask Harry if he’s sure, if he realises Zayn hasn’t one iota of business experience, but his mum told him never to look a gift horse in the mouth so he just shuts his gob.

Harry stands up and glances at the expensive gold watch he’s wearing.  “He should still be in his office actually.  Would you fancy meeting him?”

“Who?” Zayn asks because, apparently, his brain still isn’t working on all cylinders.

“Liam Payne, CTO of Payne Innovations.”  Harry opens his office door and winks at him.  “And if all goes well, your future boss.”

 

£.£.£.  

 

“An English degree with no experience?”  Liam Payne is decidedly unimpressed, examining Zayn from across the large office like he’s got some type of contagious disease.  (Maybe he does with the way people keep pulling a face every time they glance at his CV.) 

Zayn tries to remain expressionless as he sits on the grey sectional.  He can’t stop his right leg from jiggling, though, as he anxiously awaits his verdict. 

“I thought you were going to send me someone useful, Harry,” the CTO complains and Zayn bites the inside of his cheek.  This guy sounds like a dick already, and Zayn’s only been here a minute or two.

“I’m giving you someone ‘useful,’ Payno” Harry counters, glancing back at Zayn as if to make sure he hadn’t made a run for the hills yet.

Liam scoffs.  “Can he do spreadsheets?  Can he field logistics and tech questions like Rodgers—or was it Roberts?”

“Rockingham,” Harry patiently informs the CTO.  “Rockingham, by the way, was the one you called—and I quote—‘a gormless pillock’ at the all-staff meeting.”

Liam shrugs but doesn’t look the least bit repentant for the character assassination.  It makes Zayn think twice about what he’s doing here (again).  “Well, at least Rochester knew how to use QuickBooks for bloody sakes!”

Harry rolls his eyes and plops down on a desk.  It’s grey, like everything else in the room.  “ _Rockingham,_ and we have a whole accounting department for that, Liam.  Besides, Zayn’s trainable.”

“Trainable?  I don’t want a dog, Harry.  I want a bloody secretary!”

“Administrative assistant,” Harry corrects with a sigh.  It sounds like it’s something he does quite often, too.  Zayn wants to tell him not to bother because Zayn well knows he’s just going to be a glorified secretary— _if_ he gets the job, that is.  “Try to think outside the box for once, Payno.  He’s a good complement to you.”

Liam Payne looks sceptical.  “How?”

“Well, you’re all about gadgets, and he’s all about words.  Plus, I wouldn’t have to interpret your—shall we say—grammatically-challenged e-mails for the rest of the company.”

“Piss off, Styles.  I’m good at what I do.”

“The best,” Harry agrees heartily.  “I wasn’t saying anything about your technological talent or business acumen, Payno.  I was merely stating that your last mistake cost the company the sizable sum of £10,000, or if you’d prefer, $13,191, €11,190—”

“As impressive as your knowledge is of the current international exchange rates,” Liam cuts him off brusquely, “I think I’ll stop you there.”

“Shame,” Harry ticks.  “I was just about to convert it to Japanese Yen.”

Zayn’s eyes widen because he’s sure Liam is going to kill the Human Relations Director in front of him with his bare hands.  The CTO looks perfectly capable of it, too, not that Harry looks the least bit threatened. 

“Seriously, Liam,” Harry continues, “you need someone to check over your communications ASAP.  Your father is putting his foot down.”

“ _Step_ father,” Liam pounces on him, and Zayn’s just glad the bitter wrath isn’t directed at him for the time being.  “And I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t talk about such issues in front of inferiors.”

Zayn’s about three seconds from telling them both to stuff it, but then he remembers he’s quite fond of eating and bites his tongue…literally.

Harry nonchalantly folds his arms across his chest and stares down the other man.  “Well, do you want him or not?  I haven’t got all day.  If you can’t find a use for him, I’ll chuck him in the receptionist pool.  Just know I’m not going to lie to Payne Senior if he asks me why your communications haven’t improved when he specifically asked me to address the issue.”

Liam’s glaring daggers at Harry, and Zayn scoots a bit over so as not to be in the direct line of fire.  The receptionist position Harry mentioned is starting to sound better and better by the second.  He figures it must be a lower wage and possibly less hours, but he’d take it in a heartbeat at this point rather than have to deal with the disagreeable young executive in front of him. 

Liam Payne looks as if he’s about to implode, his face turning an unhealthy shade of purple for at least half-a-minute.  Then, he seems to collect himself and faces the window.  “Fine, he can stay,” he grumbles like an ornery child.  “Train Mallory for however long it takes, then send him up to me when you think he’s ready.  I’m not about to waste my time if he suddenly discovers he’s over his head a week in.”

“It’s Malik, not Mallory, and have a lovely evening, Payno,” Harry calls, motioning Zayn to follow him out the door.  Liam never turns around, just grunts as they leave.

Harry, to his credit, doesn’t seem to be the least bit perturbed.  In fact, he chuckles softly as he goes up to Zayn and slaps him on the back.  “Well, it looks like you’re Liam Payne’s new administrative assistant.  I’m not sure whether congratulations or condolences are in order, but you’re officially hired for the position as long as your references check out and what-not.”

“Um, thank you,” Zayn says feebly.  He feels heavy for some reason, like there are weights on his ankles or pressing down on his shoulders.

But he doesn’t have time to dwell on the odd feeling because Harry’s already left the reception area and started off for the lifts.  The taller man presses the ‘down’ arrow three times and glances at his expensive-looking wristwatch.  (Zayn tugs his sleeve down self-consciously to hide his own.)  “You can find your own way out since I’ve a few things to check over one floor above before I leave.”

“Thought this was the top floor?” Zayn inquires because thirty-nine floors seems plenty to him. 

“Almost,” Harry answers.  “The managing director’s office is on the top floor.  So’s the boardroom, but you probably won’t have to worry about going up there.”

Zayn nods.  He’s more than fine with that. 

“Be at my office promptly at ten o’clock tomorrow, and we’ll start your orientation.”

“I’ll be there,” Zayn promises, ignoring the impending sense of doom in his breast.

“Good.  It was a pleasure to meet you, Zayn,” he says politely, all sunshine and smiles even after their recent encounter with the surly CTO.  He shakes Zayn’s hand just as the lift dings open.  “Good luck.”

And as Zayn steps into the lift, he’s almost certain he’ll need it.

 

£.£.£.

 

It's mid-morning and there’s a light cloud covering overhead as Zayn snakes through old streets and new construction.  He’s not used to it yet:  the sheer size of everything, the buildings looming high overhead, looking as if they’re about to topple inward sometimes.  

He grew up in a city, but it wasn’t like _this_.  There’s an urgency here, a demanding insistence that he never felt up North, even in Leeds.

He recognises the shiny gold-trimmed green marble entrance first.  Pulling open the massive doors, he holds his breath as he surveys the foyer.  There's a bustling feel to the place, and it seems lightyears from yesterday evening.  There’s a queue for the lifts, and he’s almost glad; it gives him time to remember what floor Harry’s office was on.   

Turns out he doesn’t have to.

“Zayn!  What’s the craic?” someone shouts as Zayn looks around in surprise.  He finally spots Niall, Harry’s head administrative assistant, hailing him from a few feet away like they’re old pals. 

“Good morning,” Zayn greets him.  The doors open at that moment, and they file inside, Niall pulling him in with his group so they can chat further, calling out floor seventeen as they enter and take their place near the back of the crowded lift. 

“Fuck me, you’d think I’d be used to this by now,” Niall gulps, paling slightly as he grips the metal hand bar a little tighter than necessary as the car jolts and begins its ascent.

“Yeah, I don’t much fancy heights either, man,” Zayn commiserates, just grateful this thing isn’t a glass, scenic one like on the Lloyd’s building.

“Nah, I’m claustrophobic.  Try to avoid these things when they’re too jammers, but I had to run an errand in the lobby just now.  Can’t be helped, eh?”

They both breathe easier when the lift lets them out on the seventeenth floor. 

“Oi,” Niall utters, sizing him up before they enter Payne Innovation’s HR.  “I like your face, mate.  Stick with me, and you’ll do just fine.”

 

£.£.£.

 

It’s ten days since he’s started, and Zayn’s working at his temporary desk in human resources, trying to manage his way through one of the computer programmes he’s supposed to have learnt while he eats his sandwich.

“I wouldn’t get into a habit of eating at your desk if I were you,” Harry says, interrupting his train of concentration.

“Sorry, is it not allowed?”  Zayn hurriedly starts packing away his food.

“No, it’s allowed,” Harry says, picking his words carefully, “but you’ll want to avoid doing it once you get to the thirty-ninth floor on Monday.”

Monday.  Zayn can hardly believe it.  He doesn’t feel ready to be working with Liam Payne yet.  Not at all.  “Monday?” he squeaks out and Harry nods.

“Yes, and just a word of advice, Malik.  Make sure you take your breaks in the canteen or the break room once you start working with Liam.  Go outside for some fresh air even—just don’t stay at your desk.”

“Okay, thanks.”

Zayn goes back to deciphering the programme, and the rest of the afternoon passes by uneventfully.  Harry checks in on him periodically, signing off on the last few of Zayn’s onboarding tasks.  He’s complimenting Zayn’s progress when there’s a sound from the next desk over.

“Oi,” Niall interjects, punching his finger in the air and waggling his eyebrows at Harry.  “There’s another one.”

Zayn twists his head to catch a glimpse of a figure in the hall.  It’s a young woman—that much he can tell—and Zayn wonders if she’s a job candidate.

Harry sighs, looks thoroughly put out, as he stands up straighter.  “I got it.”

The girl—attractive, Zayn would say, if it weren’t for the spidery false lashes and too-dark lip liner drawn in an almost clownish fashion—struts in wearing strappy wedges and a white leather skirt.  She bats her eyelashes at Niall and opens her mouth to speak, but Harry’s too fast for her:

“Thirty-ninth floor, first office on the left,” Harry informs her dismissively while he digs through the paperclips on Niall’s desk.  “You got any larger ones, Niall?  Or the ones with the little ridges?  These just aren’t cutting it with all the new forms.”  He holds up a paperclip, pinching it between two fingers with a frown.

“I’ve a box of 72585s somewhere in here,” Niall replies, rummaging through a drawer before slapping a small box in his supervisor’s hand.  “The non-skid jumbos should do the trick!  Take as many as you need; I’ll order more before I leave.”

“Niall, you’re the best administrative assistant a Senior HR Director could ever have,” Harry raves, pouring half the paperclips into his palm.

“Sorry to interrupt but….”

It’s the girl again.  She’s still stood in the doorway, and she looks uncomfortable and a little ticked off.

Harry blinks up in surprise.  “Is there something else I can help you with, miss?”

“Well actually,” she states in a posh accent, “I was wondering where I could find Liam Payne’s office.”

“Thirty-ninth floor, first office on the left,” Harry repeats before forcing out a smile.  “Have a nice day,” he tags on.  She seems befuddled (understandably so) but wordlessly leaves. 

Zayn waits until he no longer hears her clumping shoes echoing down the halls.  “How did you know what she wanted before she even opened her mouth?”

Harry chuckles delightedly.  “Oh that was nothing.  It’s Friday afternoon, we’ve no interviews scheduled, and she’s, well….”

“Liam Payne’s type,” Niall supplies with a knowing wink.

“Yeah,” Harry confirms after a beat.  “Leggy posh brunette.  It’s probably unprofessional of me to say that, but you’re the one who’s going to have to deal with them once you’re Liam’s administrative assistant.  Figure I might as well give you a head’s up now.”

Zayn didn’t realise his job duties would include the unsavoury task of checking-in his boss’s dates.  “Why do they come here first?”

“They don’t always,” Harry answers.  “Sometimes reception sends them directly to the thirty-ninth floor, and we don’t have to bother with them.”

“But you will,” Niall sing-songs.

“Do they show up every Friday?”

Harry shakes his head.  “About every other I’d say.  Liam likes to leave directly from the office when he’s taking a weekend.  If they meet him at the office, he doesn’t have to waste any time; he hates inefficiency you know.” 

Zayn knows.  In fact, Zayn knows a lot about Liam Payne’s personality that he wishes he didn’t.

Harry slaps him on the back.  “Why don’t you get on home, Zayn?  There’s not much else for you to do here, and you’ve a big day on Monday.  Rest up this weekend; you want to make sure you make the best impression possible.”

“I’ll try,” Zayn says, trying to sound optimistic but probably failing by a wide margin.

Harry nods approvingly.  “Good.  I know you won’t let me down.”

 

£.£.£.

 

It’s Zayn first day with his new boss and so far he’s batting a thousand.  He mucked up Liam’s coffee order and had to go down to the ground floor and wait in a fifteen-minute queue to correct it; he spilt his own coffee all over his desk and his white shirt; he’s suddenly forgotten how to use every programme Harry, Barb, and Niall showed him; and he’s hung up on at least 5,000 callers meaning to transfer them or put them on hold.

And it’s only noon.  Fucking _noon_.

Technically, it’s 12:08 which means there are eight minutes gone in his lunch break.  He nearly sings a Hallelujah chorus as he realises he’s about to get fifty-two blissful minutes to himself.  He buzzes Liam to let him know he’s going on break and tries not to take to heart the snarky, _“Don’t you need to work first before you take a break?”_ he gets in response.  He can’t afford to let his self-esteem plummet any more than it already has today.

He’s checking his notifications, halfway into his mint chutney veggie sandwich when he hears it:

“What is _that_?”

Zayn stares up at his boss in surprise.  Liam seems even taller and broader than usual as he hovers over him, a scowl marring what otherwise could be deemed a handsomely-rugged face.  Zayn’s not certain why Liam’s stood there or what the ill-mannered question referred to, but he _is_ certain that he should’ve heeded Harry’s advice about not remaining at his desk when he’s not on the clock.

“What?” Zayn replies at last because Liam doesn’t seem to be willing to clarify any time soon.  He’s far too busy scrunching up his nose like he’s just smelled something rank, and Zayn wonders if he’s going to have to add “obnoxious food snob” to his already unfortunate description of his new boss.

“Your… _phone_ ,” Liam says distastefully, nearly grimacing at the Nokia Zayn’s holding.

Zayn glances at the ‘offensive’ object.  “What about it?”

“Is that a 3210?”

“No, of course not,” Zayn scoffs although he wouldn’t swear on it.  He wouldn’t know a 3210 if it hit him in the head (which, if this thing _is_ a 3210, would probably cause a concussion).

“Whatever it is, it belongs in the British Museum.”

Zayn rolls his eyes.  “It’s only temporary.  I dropped my last one when I was rushing to catch the tube at Liverpool Street Station last week.  It fell on the concrete and shattered the screen; wouldn’t even power on actually.”

“I’d say you’d want to have that checked out.”

“I did.  It would’ve cost too much to fix, more than I paid for it in the first place, so I just binned it.”

“No,” Liam derides, eying Zayn’s coffee-stained shirt.  “I was saying you ought to have the fact that you constantly drop things checked out.”

Zayn has to bite his lip then.  He really does.

“So you said this happened last week, Macklin.  Why you haven’t bought a new one?”

“Because I haven’t gotten paid yet.”  He wanted to tack on ‘duh’ to the end but decided against it.  His boss clearly doesn’t understand the concept of living paycheque to paycheque (or student loan to student loan).

“Well, why didn’t you bloody say something?  I’ll have Harry arrange an advance for you.”

Zayn’s shocked by the generous gesture.  He didn’t mention it because he didn’t think such an offer was on the table.  “Wow…cheers much.  I really appreciate your doing this for me.”

Liam waves the gratitude off.  “Oh, I’m not doing this for you.  I just don’t want my personal secretary to be using technology that’s a dinosaur; it’s a poor reflection on both me and the company.”

Zayn breathes in through his nostrils and doesn’t look at his asshole of a boss.  “Got it.”

“Good,” Liam nods.  He turns to walk away and then stops.  “I’m also afraid to ask, but what exactly were you planning on purchasing with the advance?”

“I don’t know…whatever’s on sale for my carrier I guess.  I got the last one for twenty quid, but I probably won’t be so lucky this time.”

Liam purses his lips.  Zayn evidently gave the wrong answer.  Again.  “What are you doing after work today?”

Zayn thinks about answering honestly, telling his boss that he’ll probably be curling up with some takeaway and the latest BBC docudrama, but it sounds…lame.  (And that may be his life at the present, but it’s not like he needs someone else to rub it in his face.)  “Haven’t made plans yet,” he says instead.

“Good, then it’s settled.  We’re going to get you a proper phone.”

“But—”

“Don’t worry; I’ll put it on my expense account,” he adds drily before walking out into the hall. 

Zayn sighs as he tucks back into his sandwich.  He’s going to have to remember to take Harry’s advice to heart next time.  In the meantime, he tries to look on the bright side.  At least he’ll be getting a new mobile sooner than later.  There’s that.  And shopping with Liam Payne can’t be as horrible as working for him.

 

£.£.£.

 

Apparently he was wrong about the shopping thing.  Dead wrong.  Liam Payne is a scourge on society.  He’s a prickly, nit-picking arse who gets off on telling shop clerks they should learn their products better.

And Zayn’s knackered.   He’s had a stressful day and to top it off, he’s now got to deal with things like octa-core processors and the pros and cons of marshmallow, nougat, and Oreo operating systems (which is just making him hungry).

Liam finally chooses something for him in the fourth shop they visit.  Zayn’s elated because it means he’ll no longer have to suffer withering glances from shop clerks.

He swears he’ll never go shopping with Liam again.  He just has to work with him, and he can manage that.

Maybe.

 

 


	2. (in which Liam makes a proposal)

 

The first month, Zayn doesn’t say a peep.  He watches, listens, pays attention.  He spell- and grammar-checks Liam’s correspondences.  He arrives on time and stays late when asked.  He’s conscientious and thorough in his work.  He doesn’t complain, not even when Liam calls him by the wrong name—Zayn’s sure it’s on purpose by this point—or drops stacks of work on his desk at four o’clock.  He doesn’t gripe when one of Liam’s caked-up ‘leggy brunettes’ shows up unannounced and he’s supposed to entertain her while Liam takes his sweet-ass time on whatever conference call he’s on.

The second month, Zayn finds his voice.  He speaks up at meetings.  He’s friendly with the employees he interacts with, and he eats lunch with Niall and a few of the other administrative assistants in the canteen nearly every day.  He offers his opinion when Liam asks for it, even when he knows it isn’t what Liam wants to hear.

But sometimes, like today, Zayn is too vocal.  It’s probably because he’s had to work late every day this week.  Maybe it’s because he hasn’t eaten today, having had to work through lunch because they were getting ready for Liam’s pitch to a competitor, some long-term project that’s supposed to benefit both companies.  The deal is Liam’s baby, and it’s important to the CTO.

Liam’s crawling on the floor, searching through tangled wires as he endeavours to check all the connections.  Zayn’s been trying to talk to him for the past ten minutes, but Liam keeps shushing him, telling him he’s concentrating so Zayn waits.  And waits.  Finally, Liam throws all the cables down and gets to his feet, hands twisting at his short hair.  “Why isn’t this working?”

The question wasn’t really aimed at Zayn, but he answers anyway.  “Because the problem’s not with the connections.  That’s why.”

“And how would you know that exactly?” Liam huffs.  “Did you earn a first degree from the London School of Economics, Matić?  Are _you_ Chief Technology Officer of a multibillion-dollar company?”

Zayn’s fucking seething, but he swallows down his pride.  “No, but I know you’re supposed to switch the bloody thing on, Mr. Payne.  I may not have gone to the LSE.  I may have a ‘worthless English degree,’ but that’s one thing I’ve learnt along the way.  And yeah, Bradford may be way up North and far away from civilisation and all, but we do have electricity and bloody on/off switches, thank you very much.”

Okay, so maybe that was a bit much.  Maybe he should’ve reeled it in a little so he doesn’t get fired.  He likes this job.  It’s not hard labour, and the pay’s decent.  Besides, the gig’s alright as shitty first jobs that aren’t in your chosen career field go.

He just can’t fucking stand his boss.  Tale as old as time. 

“Oh…um, right,” Liam says, a little chagrined.  “The power button.  Yeah, I was just about to check that.”

“And the name’s ‘Malik,’ by the way,” Zayn adds on because he’s had it with being called every surname starting with ‘M’ in the last two months.  “On second thought, just call me ‘Zayn.’” 

The presentation goes well, and Zayn’s well relieved.  He’s not sure why the Titan deal is especially important to his boss, but he knows Liam’s a great deal easier to work with when he’s not freaking out over impressing the Titan representatives.

 

£.£.£.

 

“Venti four-shot pumpkin spice latte with coconut milk, no whip, and extra pumpkin spice topping ready at the bar!” 

Zayn’s gaze drifts towards the bar out of habit.  He’s always loved studying people, loved unique characters.  Maybe it’s the writer in him, but he needs to know what the person who ordered such a specific drink looks like.

As it turns out, the person looks a lot like Harry Styles.

Probably because it is Harry Styles.

“Zayn!” Harry shouts gaily, snatching his drink as he sashays through the crowd to Zayn’s table.  “What are _you_ doing here?” he asks, likes it’s mind-boggling that Zayn would be at the coffee shop directly across from their building at 6pm on a Wednesday.

Zayn shrugs.  He doesn’t want to tell Harry that sometimes he gets lonely or feels caged-up in his tiny flat.  Sometimes he just like to sit and read after work, doodle a bit, be around people.

His mum says he should date more, but Zayn’s not the dating type.  He prefers to be in an established relationship, hates the awkwardness of first dates and the expectations that go with them.  Besides, he went on more than enough dates at uni and even managed a year-long relationship that didn’t end particularly well.  He needs a break, needs time to suss it all out.

“Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all, mate,” Zayn responds as Harry pulls out a chair.  Zayn knows Harry is a senior exec at Payne Innovations, but that fact’s never bothered him.  It’s funny, but he feels almost as comfortable around Harry as he does with Niall. 

“How are things going?  Liam still calling you Maltin this week or has he moved on?”

“No, I might have said something about that,” Zayn admits sheepishly.  “Asked him to call me, ‘Zayn.’”

“And it worked?”

“Yeah.  He told me to call him ‘Liam’ the next day.”

Harry whistles.  “I’ll have to remember that.  So how’s everything else, then?”

“Good.  I mean,” he qualifies when Harry shoots him a dubious look, “it’s stressful, like.  There’s a lot going on right now and emotions get high.”

Harry studies him for a moment.  “I really shouldn’t be telling you this, but I like you and want you to stay a while.”  He takes a sip from his drink, and Zayn waits patiently for him to proceed.  “Liam’s all bark and no bite—or very little bite at any rate.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Zayn grunts.  “I get it, though—why he’s so driven.  He’s probably out to prove he didn’t get the job because of his last name.”

Harry snorts.  “Liam got the job _despite_ his last name.”

That throws Zayn for a loop.  “What do you mean?”

“Well, you know Dan Payne, the Managing Director of Payne Innovations, is Liam’s stepdad, right?”

“Of course.”

“Well, didn’t you ever wonder why they’ve got the same last name?”

Zayn shakes his head.  “Nah, I just figured the guy adopted Liam or summat.”

“It’s not really my story to tell,” Harry confides, voice lowering so that Zayn has to bend halfway across the table to hear him, “but I’ll just say that they have the same surname because Dan is Liam’s uncle.”

Zayn can feel his eyes widen as he makes the connection.  “So you’re telling me that Liam’s mum divorced Liam’s dad to marry Liam’s _uncle_?”

“Actually,” Harry explains, “Geoff, his dad, passed away about fifteen years ago, just after the company took off.  Geoff was a good man—or so I’ve heard from people who remember him.  He was smart, technologically-gifted like Liam, but his brother had the ambition and business savvy.”

Zayn thinks about how young Liam must have been when his dad passed, how life-changing it must have been.  “How did it happen?”

“He had a heart condition, I guess.  The two brothers fought constantly about what direction they wanted the business to go in which supposedly aggravated it.  So anyway, after Geoff died, his brother got full control of the company.  Dan also married his brother’s wife.”

“Liam’s mum,” Zayn clarifies, all the pieces starting to fall into place now.

“Yeah, Liam’s resented him ever since.”

“How very Hamlet of him.”

Harry chortles, eyes twinkling.  “Never thought of that, but you’re spot on.  Let’s just hope this doesn’t all end in a bloody duel with poisoned swords, eh?”  He leans back and takes a chug of his latte, slapping it down like a pint when he’s done.  “I have to say it’s quite refreshing having someone else who’s well-read around the place.”

Zayn blushes.  “Cheers.”

“You know,” Harry says with a wink, “I didn’t study business either.”

“No?”

“Yeah, studied law actually.  Met Liam at university, and we’ve been thick as thieves ever since.”  Harry sits back again and smiles cheekily, like he’s remembering his uni days fondly.  “Anyway, I think it’s good to have some fresh perspectives around the place, you know?”

Zayn appreciates the comment, appreciates someone who values his non-standard background and sees it as a positive rather than a negative.

He just wishes his boss felt the same way.

 

£.£.£.

 

It’s nearing the end of the workday and Zayn’s getting things in order before he heads for the tube station.  Liam’s office door is cracked so Zayn just knocks once before pushing it open.

“Yes?”  Liam’s eyes don’t leave his computer screen.

“I was just about to leave,” Zayn reports, and Liam looks up immediately.  Zayn can tell he’s lost track of time again.  “I wanted to let you know that I sent you my revisions on the Browne letter.  I also typed up that troubleshooting guide for the new software; made it into a pamphlet and added a few graphics.  You might give it a glance and make sure it’s what you wanted.”

“Thank you, Zayn.  I’m sure it’ll be more than fine.”  Liam sounds distracted, like he's got a lot on his mind.  Zayn knows something’s off with his boss because he never approves anything without checking it over first.  _Never._

Zayn rubs the back of his neck, waiting for Liam to say something further.  “Well, if you don’t have anything else for me, I’ll—”

“Actually, I do,” Liam rushes to say.  “Could you take a seat?  Oh, and shut the door first.  This is a personal matter.”

Zayn complies, trying not to look overly curious as he sits in his usual chair facing Liam.  “Shoot.”

“I’ll cut straight to the chase,” Liam announces.  He leans forward, and Zayn is met with steely eyes and steepled fingers.  “I’m willing to offer you fifty grand if you’ll enter into a small…partnership with me.  This would be in addition to your salary at Payne Innovations, of course.  Think of it as a bonus.”

Zayn narrows his eyes.  “What kind of partnership?”

“A fake engagement.”

“Oh,” Zayn says, relieved it’s nothing illegal.  “Wait— _what_?”

“A fake engagement,” his boss repeats slowly, as if he’s convinced Zayn’s comprehension skills are significantly lacking.  “For six months.  Maybe less if I can pull it off sooner, but don’t worry—you’ll be paid the full sum regardless of how long it takes.”

Zayn’s suspicious, and he doesn’t even know why.  There’s nothing to be suspicious of because, clearly, Liam’s lost the plot.  Zayn’s having a conversation with a complete nutter.  There’s no other reasonable explanation. 

He clears his throat, searches Liam’s eyes for a sign the other man’s taking the piss.  “How long _what_ takes?”

A smile plays at Liam’s lips.  “For me to be hired as the CTO at Titan Technologies.”

“Titan?  But I thought they were, like, our rivals?”

“They are,” Liam confirms with a glint in his eye.  “Payne Innovations is a drop in the ocean next to Titan.  Titan’s the giant.”

“Hence the name,” Zayn supplies, almost laughing at the irony as Liam stares at him quizzically.  “The, uh, Titans were the Gods in Greek mythology who screwed over their father, Uranus,” he explains.  “Essentially what you’re doing now.”

“He’s my _step_ father, and I’m not screwing him over,” Liam insists, but Zayn’s comment seems to have ruffled his feathers nonetheless.  “It’s just business.”

Zayn tries not to linger too long on the distinctly bad taste in his mouth as he digests what Liam’s just said.  If nothing else, it’s a good reminder that he can’t let himself get stuck in this world for longer than he absolutely needs to.

Zayn licks his lips, measures his words carefully.  “I didn’t think you, uh, needed the money.”

Liam scowls.  “I couldn’t give two shits about the money—it’s all about Titan.  They’re where the future is and where I need to be.  I want to be the best, and I want to work for the best.” 

“So you’re after the prestige then?”

“I want everything that working for a Fortune 500 company offers,” Liam informs him brusquely.  “But you wouldn’t have to concern yourself with that.  All I’m asking from you is to consent to this fake engagement so that Walters will see me as something more than…”

“…an International playboy with the last name Payne?”

Liam smirks.  “Basically.  He’s old-fashioned, wants company men who are family men as well.  If I show him I’m ready to settle down, he’ll think I’m Titan material.”

“And what happens after we break the engagement?”

“It won’t matter by that point; I’ll already be in,” Liam explains, and Zayn’s got to give him credit because he’s obviously thought this thing through from every angle.  “Like I said, he’s loyal; he isn’t going to fire me because I had a failed relationship—especially if it’s your fault.”

Zayn raises an eyebrow.  He’s doesn’t quite fancy being cast as the bad guy—even in a fake relationship. 

“Don’t worry about it now,” Liam shushes him, reading his face (which is rather ground-shaking considering his boss hardly ever looks directly at him).  “We can discuss the specific terms of the breakup later.  So do you have any other objections?”

“Well…I’m a dude in case you haven’t noticed.”

Liam folds his arms across his chest.  “Yes, I’ve gathered that, Zayn.  Your point?”

“My point is that I’ve seen a parade of women come through those doors and not a single bloke so sorry if I seem a bit sceptical.  Besides, if you’re trying to impress some old-fashioned stodgy bloke with a fake engagement, I’d think you’d want something more, um, traditional.”

“I don’t want to enter this arrangement with a female.  They get too emotional about these things.”

It may not be the most sexist, chauvinistic, misogynistic comment Zayn’s ever personally heard, but it’s damn well close.  Definitely top twenty.  Maybe top ten.

“Besides,” Liam continues, “Walters is gay.”

“Okay…I’m not sure what the fact that your future boss is gay has to do with your personal sexual orientation, but—”

“Look,” Liam cuts him off, “maybe you didn’t hear me the first time:  it’s a bloody fake engagement.  What difference does it make who I prefer to take to bed?  I’d rather keep this at a professional level, and like I said, I think it’ll be easier with a guy.  We’d just have to make it believable in public, but there’s no sex involved.  Don’t get your hopes up.”

“They weren’t,” Zayn snaps.  “I wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole under normal circumstances.”

“Well, I wouldn’t touch you with a twenty.”

Zayn shouldn’t be offended, but he is.  “Then why’d you fucking ask me?”

“Because you’re sensible, and you obviously need the money.”  Liam gives a scathing glance at Zayn’s coffee-stained shirt, the one he was wearing on the first day on the job as Liam’s secretary.  (And okay, it’s a fair point, but Zayn’s only got four dress shirts, zero time, a wonky washing machine, and no dryer.  Besides, the shirt’s tan anyway so it’s not like the stain is _that_ noticeable after he’s washed it a couple times.)

Zayn buttons his suit jacket.  “So that’s it, then?  That’s your entire basis for asking me to do this daft stunt?”

Liam shrugs.  “I also think you’d look good in an Armani suit.”

“So you’re looking for arm candy then?”

Liam rolls his eyes.  “Well, it’s not like I’m gonna fake an engagement with someone who’s hideous.” 

“You’re an ass.” 

“Why?  I just gave you a bloody compliment, for fuck’s sake.”

Zayn doesn’t even know where to start.  He thinks back to his conversation with Harry and wonders whether he should set the HR director straight about Liam next time he sees him.  Liam’s not ‘all bark and no bite’; he’s a colossal ass.

And this whole conversation is a colossal waste of time.  If Zayn wants to get out of this place at a reasonable time for once, he needs to get back to work…like yesterday.  He clears his throat, tries to be delicate.  “I’d really appreciate if we could pretend this conversation never happened.  I positively cannot listen to another word of this; it’s absolutely mad—all of it.”

Liam tilts his head; thinks for a moment.  “Okay…a hundred grand.  All expenses paid.  I’ll give you twenty-four hours to think about it.”

Zayn freezes for a moment when he hears the astronomical figure.  One hundred thousand pounds is a shitload of money any way you look at it.  It gives him pause as he thinks about everything he could do with it:  pay off his student debts, catch up on his rent, help his family….

_Help his family._

Liam must spot the indecision on his face because he goes in hard.  Zayn’s seen that determined look before, it’s the one Liam gets right before he closes a deal.  “You wouldn’t need to worry about a thing.  I’ll give you a clothing and food allowance and whatever else you need.  And like I said—you’d still get your salary.”

It sounds too good to be true when Liam puts it like that.  “So just to clarify:  I’d be able to stay in my flat, and you’d stay in yours, right?”

“Right.  Like I said, this is purely a business arrangement.  We might set up some times where you could do some of your office work at my place—just to make it look good, of course.  As for other duties, you’d be required to commit to a few public appearances a month, some dinner parties, the like.”  Liam’s gaze turns intense.  “So, what do you say?”

Zayn knows he’s going to regret this later.  Fuck, he’ll probably regret it tomorrow morning.  This has all the earmarks of something crazy and reckless, something he’d normally avoid like a used tissue. 

He stands up, meets Liam’s eyes.  “Alright, I’ll do it.”

“Shake?”  Liam gets up from his desk and reaches out a hand.  Zayn hesitates a moment, then takes it as a diamond-studded cufflink flashes in the light. 

Liam’s wearing a victory smirk, and Zayn’s already regretting everything.  “Good, I’ll have the paperwork ready in due course.  See you tomorrow morning.”

 

£.£.£.

 

Liam’s as good as his word.  The contract, drawn up by Liam’s personal solicitor, is an impressive six-page document filled to the brim with legalese.  It’s all “party of the first part” and “party of the second part”; all “confidentiality clause,” “breach of contract,” and “liquidation of partnership.”  Zayn’s head is spinning, and he’s only skimmed through it.

“Well?” Liam prompts, pushing the pen towards Zayn impatiently.  “You haven’t changed your mind already, have you?”

“No.”  Zayn’s always prided himself on his knowledge of vocabulary, but he’s not about to sign anything like this without googling half of the terms enclosed first.  “But I can’t sign the bloody thing without reading it first.”

Liam rolls his eyes.  “How long?”

“Well, to be honest, I’m not sure,” Zayn huffs.  He doesn’t like to be rushed into things, and he’s feeling decidedly rushed right now as he sits opposite Liam.  “I need to read through this thing, make sure I understand what I’m getting meself into first.”

“Fine,” Liam agrees tersely.  "Will Wednesday suit your schedule?  Shall I table this discussion until then?”

“That’s tomorrow, Liam.”

“It’s also the first of the month, and I want to get the ball rolling on this,” Liam announces, rising from his desk, then circling the room like a shark.  He stops at the door suddenly and whips it open, sticking his head out.  A moment later, he takes a deep breath and shuts it again.

“Did you check the windows?” Zayn deadpans, motioning towards the floor-to-ceiling panoramic view.  “Maybe someone scaled the side of the building just to listen to our conversation.”

“How very droll,” Liam replies, clicking the lock before making his way back to his desk.  “Never realised my secretary was a proper comedian.”

“You gonna lock me in here until I sign or—”

“You know why I locked the door,” Liam growls, slamming his palms on the desk.  “Now stop fannying around and get on with it:  are you or aren’t you going to sign the f…lipping contract?”

“If you want to say ‘fucking,’ just say ‘fucking,” Zayn tosses out casually.  He’s not about to show Liam that he’s intimidated by his little show of strength.  “After all, we’re practically engaged, aren’t we?”

“Is that a ‘yes’ then?”

“Ask me tomorrow.”  Then without another word, Zayn leaves his chair, unlocks the door, and heads out to his own desk.  He swears he can feel Liam breathing down his neck the entire way.

But again, he isn’t going to be rushed into something like this.  Liam will just have to deal.

 

£.£.£.

 

The more Zayn thinks about it that night, the more he worries no one’s going to believe them.  It’s taboo, the imbalance of power in such office relationships, but it’s also so _obvious_.  Perhaps it doesn’t occur as frequently in real life as it does in films or in some shitty romance novel, but it’s still a cliché.

Besides, he doesn’t even know if Payne Innovations has a rule against employees dating, let alone a boss and his secretary.  Part of Zayn thinks he should just leave the details up to Liam, but he doesn’t want to be caught unawares, fired from a job that would look shitloads better on a CV than ‘fiancé-for-hire.’

It’s a conundrum.  Then again, he knows someone who would know the answer.

“What an amazing coincidence,” Harry says, eyes twinkling, when Zayn approaches him during his break the next day.  “Liam just asked me the same question last week.”

“Oh really?”

Harry scrutinises him closely, but Zayn’s not giving anything away.  “Well, if I were speaking as the HR Director of Payne Innovations, I would say relationships between employees are permitted as long as they are mutually consensual.”

“And if you were speaking as a friend?” Zayn asks, biting his lip.

“I’d say be careful.  I’d also say that dating your boss can be a bit of a sticky wicket.”

Zayn realises that of course, but it’s not like Liam and him are entering into a real relationship.  It’s just an engagement of convenience; a business partnership and nothing more. 

“Cheers for the advice, Harry.”

“No problem,” Harry returns resignedly.  “Thanks for pretending to listen.”

 

 

 

 


	3. (in which Liam makes another proposal)

 

Zayn signs the contract after the close of business on the first of November.

He’d been too paranoid to bring the contract to the office that morning so Liam follows him to his flat after work.  Traffic is impossible during the evening rush so Liam agrees to take the tube.

Liam makes snarky comments the whole time.  It starts with _“I didn’t realise the Hammersmith & City Line went this far East; are we still actually in London?”_ and continues through _“I’ve never taken the Docklands Light Rail before, but it’s exactly how I thought it would be.”_

Needless to say, Zayn is so done with him by the time they've reached the familiar block of flats.

Liam’s clearly unimpressed by Zayn’s modest bedsit.  He raises a brow when Zayn shoves the tip of his boot under the door, jiggles the handle, and throws his weight against the dodgy thing to lock it.  Fortunately, he doesn’t make any more comments.

There’s no celebration, no signing party.  There’s no ticker-tape parade, just a ‘thank you’ from Liam that precedes a reminder about the confidentiality clause.  (And yeah, Zayn knows by now they’re not supposed to tell anyone.  Otherwise, the whole thing would be bloody pointless.)

Then Liam rings a minicab service.

Not much changes at the office except Zayn no longer has to worry about Friday ‘visitors.’  Even less changes outside of work, and that’s probably not a good thing.  They’re doing a shit job of pretending to be dating, Liam and him.  They haven’t changed their interactions.  They haven’t kissed or held hands.  They haven’t even had a single meal together, but Zayn guesses that if they really were together, they wouldn’t be making it obvious—not this early in the relationship.

In any case, Zayn’s gonna go with Tennyson and his whole “ours not to reason why” bit.  He’ll let Liam worry about the details.  Zayn gets paid on a monthly basis whether or not Liam gets the Titan job (as long as he fulfils his end of the bargain, that is).

The only person who suspects they’re dating is Harry and that’s only because they both straight-up asked him about the company’s code on employee relationships.  Zayn wonders if Liam fed Harry any other stories because he keeps giving a questioning smirk every time Zayn sees him.

Kind of like right now.

Zayn just tries to ignore it as he buzzes his boss.  “Harry’s here.”

“Fuck, is it that late already?” is the response he gets, and Harry snickers into his hand.  Zayn can hear Liam rustling about behind the closed office door, throwing God-knows-what around.

“So, Zayn,” Harry says after a minute, leaning a hand on the secretary’s desk.  “Fancy going out for drinks on Friday?”  Harry’s still smirking at him, and now Zayn’s starting to question his ability to interpret smirks.  It didn’t seem like a leering type of smirk at first but now he’s not so sure.

“Stop flirting with my secretary, Styles,” Liam growls out of nowhere, managing to look both disgruntled and jealous.  Zayn would give his performance top marks.

“Why?” Harry smirks (and this one’s Zayn definitely an ‘asshole smirk’).  “Is flirting with your secretary—technically, administrative assistant— _your_ job, Payno?” 

Liam’s cheeks flush red and Zayn didn’t even know that was possible.

“Don’t worry,” Harry laughs, clearly delighted by the reaction he’s getting from his audience.  “I was asking _both_ of you out for drinks after work on Friday.”  He winks at Liam.  “By the way, it’s kind of nice knowing I don’t have to schedule our lads’ night-outs on alternating weekends anymore.”

“Can’t, sorry,” Zayn apologises.  “I’ve plans on Friday.”  He does, too—with Niall and some of the other lads around the office.  He’s already cancelled on them twice, and he doesn’t want to disappoint Niall again when the man’s been so lovely to him since the day he started working at Payne.

“Plans?” Liam scoffs.  “You never have plans.”

Zayn bites the inside of his cheek.  Liam’s not entirely wrong, but he doesn’t have to be a dick about Zayn’s practically non-existent social life either.

“Let him be, Liam,” Harry scolds.  “Besides, I wanted to have a chat with you about something anyway.”  He coughs and gestures towards Zayn with about as much discretion as a herd of elephants.  “All set for the big meeting?”

“Of course,” Liam replies, “and I’m, er, bringing Zayn as well.  Thought he could make a record of what we discuss.”

This is news to Zayn, but he goes with it.  He figures it’s a fantastic opportunity to meet the Titan execs.  That way he’ll know who he’s supposed to be impressing in the near future.

“You sure it’s not because you want him around?” Harry asks slyly.

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about,” Liam replies in a way that makes it seem like he knows exactly what Harry’s talking about.

Harry chuckles.  “So that’s the way you’re going to play it, Payno.  You should know you can’t keep any secrets around here but suit yourself.  Now, let’s get going; we’ve a meeting upstairs with Titan Technologies in fifteen minutes.”

They’re the first to arrive and Zayn’s glad; it gives him time to look around.  It’s the first time he’s been in the Executive Boardroom, first time he’s seen the massive screen and even more massive table that could easily fit thirty.  Just like in Liam’s office, there are floor-to-ceiling windows, but these stretch even longer.  It’s damned impressive.

Liam has a seat at one corner, next to the chair at the head of the table.  Zayn, out of pure habit, takes a chair next to him but starts to move back when Harry walks around the table to their side.

“Stay here,” Liam barks.

Zayn does as he’s told, tries not to look too overwhelmed by his surroundings as he sets up his laptop to type a few notes.  “Table’s nice,” he says conversationally, checking out the glass and trying to suss out how it was put together.

Harry laughs as he pulls out the chair next to Zayn.  “We just remodelled, and this table was a proper headache to get in here, let me tell you.”  He wraps on the glass with his knuckles.  “I usually oversee the design plans, you know, but this baby was Liam’s idea.  Said he wanted something impressive like the table from some superhero film.”

“The Dark Knight,” Liam supplies, and maybe it’s just Zayn’s imagination, but his boss seems to blush a bit.

“Oh, I know the one you mean!” Zayn enthuses.  “Yeah, this could be a replica of the table at Wayne Enterprises; just watched the trilogy again a few months back.”

Their chat is cut short when the door opens and “The Imperial March” starts playing as Dan Payne enters the room.  (And okay, Darth Vader’s theme isn’t playing anywhere outside of Zayn’s imagination, but it should be.)

There’s nothing particularly remarkable about the managing director of Payne Innovations, Liam’s stepfather/uncle/boss.  Dan Payne has an unremarkable haircut, unremarkable dull brown eyes (unlike his nephew’s), and an unremarkable build.  He’s average height and generally wears blasé suits paired with patterned ties and shirts that give the impression he got dressed in the dark. 

As a matter of fact, it’s hard to believe Liam and him are related.  Where Liam is all long and lean and muscular (and yeah, Zayn couldn’t help but notice that; he’s only human), Payne Senior is bull-like with squinty eyes and pudgy hands.  He’s got an attitude to match those attributes, coming across as boorish and uneducated even if he isn’t (uneducated, that is). Zayn doesn’t like being around the managing director of Payne Innovations because he’s domineering, materialistic, and manipulative.

And those are just a few of his better qualities.

Dan Payne takes his seat at the head of the table and flips open the sleek, silver laptop that seems permanently attached to him.  “I thought they were supposed to be here, Liam,” he snarls without so much as a glance at his stepson/nephew/CTO.

“They will be,” Liam replies through clenched teeth.  No one in the building really likes the managing director, but it’s clear Liam has a personal vendetta against the man.  Zayn would’ve been able to spot that even if Harry hadn’t told him the backstory. 

“I don’t like waiting,” Payne complains.

“I don’t either but it’s not even time yet.”

Harry clears his throat.  “They’re supposed to arrive at eleven.  Niall Horan is greeting them and bringing them up here.”

Payne huffs like a spoilt child.  He turns to say something to Harry but his eyes land on Zayn instead.  “Who the fuck is he and why is he here?” he questions, thumbing towards the shrinking secretary.  He looks accusingly at his stepson.  “I thought we were going to keep the lid on this thing for now, Liam.”

“You’ve met him before,” Liam says tersely.  “He’s my secretary.”

“Administrative assistant,” Harry chimes in.

“Yeah, well why is he in my boardroom?”

“He’s here,” Liam answers, enunciating each word, “because Zayn’s been essential to the development of the deal with Titan.”

Dan Payne moves on, much to Zayn’s relief.  “What exactly is this deal with Titan anyway?  I liked the project proposal and profit margins you presented, but I’m a little miffed why we’re going in with a competitor, Liam.”

“I was at first as well,” Harry reveals, “but after I reviewed everything, it’s actually a great opportunity; Liam’s a genius.”

Dan Payne grunts, and Zayn isn’t sure whether he’s belittling the business opportunity, Liam’s genius, or both.  “Well, I don’t trust Walters.  That folksy American charm doesn’t fool me a bit.” 

The words are barely out of Payne’s mouth when Walters and his crew arrive, and the meeting commences without further ado.

 

£.£.£.

 

After the whole phone fiasco on his first day as Liam’s secretary, Zayn had promised himself he’d never go shopping with his boss again.  And as he waits for Liam to give his opinion on the fourteenth suit jacket Zayn’s tried on at Harrods that evening, Zayn _really_ wishes he would have kept his word.

“Do you have something a little more tailored?” Liam asks their ‘style adviser,’ crossing his legs and relaxing back in his comfy chair.  “And maybe double-breasted.”  He takes a sip of sparkling water and turns to Zayn.  “Did we buy you a double-breasted jacket yet, babe?  I can’t remember.”  Liam’s directing that sickly-sweet smile at him again, and it’s all Zayn can do not to kick him in the teeth.

“Not yet, darling,” Zayn grits out, plastering on an equally-revolting fake smile.  “But don’t you think double-breasted is dated?”

“It’s timeless, sweetheart,” Liam coos in return. 

“But—”

“No ‘buts,’ baby.  I want to see some double-breasted jackets.”

Zayn wonders if Liam’s got the hump because of the meeting with Titan and his stepfather earlier.  The meeting went well enough, but Dan Payne did commandeer it from the get-go, behaving as if the Titan-Payne project was his original idea while generally acting like an arrogant prick.  Zayn could tell Liam was silently seething the whole time, but it wasn’t like the CTO could say anything then.

Zayn schools his face back into a tight smile.  The man helping them somehow doesn’t see through it all, just quickly trots off to retrieve the style Liam requested as the end of his measuring tape dances behind him.

Zayn glares at Liam when he’s sure they’re alone.  “Can you lay off the sugar daddy act, please?”

“Why?” Liam sniffs.  “Does it bother you that I’m trying to do something nice?”

“ _Nice_?” Zayn scoffs.  He can hardly believe his ears as he sheds the jacket he’s wearing and glowers at his fake fiancé-to-be.  “I hardly think you’re buying me these things to be nice, Liam.”

“Well, you don’t have to sound ungrateful.”

“Well, _you_ don’t have to sound like you’re my sugar daddy.”

Liam shrugs.  “Well, if the shoe fits….”

“Liam, I swear to—”

“Found some!” the debonair adviser chirps, re-entering the styling lounge with jackets fifteen, sixteen, and seventeen in hand.  “I think I’ve found just what you’re looking for!” he tells Liam excitedly and Zayn groans inwardly. 

The man doesn’t seem to notice Zayn’s lack of enthusiasm as he hangs the jackets on the rack and prattles on.  “I gave my assistant your measurements, and she’s pulling a few other things we discussed.  I think we should move on to shirts after this; I just know you’re going to _love_ the new designs we’ve brought in!”

They finish up with the suit jackets.  Zayn tries on each one, feeling like a hanger while Liam and the adviser make their critiques.  Finally, they’re done with the jackets, and the adviser is speaking to Zayn again.  “If you’ll just disrobe, sir, I’ll go fetch those items.  Be back in a tick!”

The man disappears, and Liam stares at Zayn expectantly.  “Well?”

“I am _not_ taking off my kit in front of you.  No fucking way.”

Liam rolls his eyes.  “It’s just a bloody shirt—you can even keep your undershirt on.  If we have time to look at trousers, I’ll leave the room, okay?”

Zayn grumbles his acquiescence and unbuttons his shirt.  “Don’t look until I tell you to.”  He feels incredibly self-conscious for some reason. 

“Fuck, you never told me you had so much ink.”

“You weren’t supposed to look yet,” Zayn whinges.  “And I bloody _knew_ you were going to make a big deal about it.”  He can feel Liam’s eyes devouring his skin, and he pulls his shirt back up over his shoulders.

“No, I like them,” Liam rushes to say.  His voice sounds a little strained, a little raspy maybe, and Zayn wonders if he’s catching a cold.  “I mean, I’m sure you’ve seen my hand tattoo so you must know I’m, like, into tattoos or whatever.”

“Yeah,” Zayn nods.  He glances at the roses on Liam’s hand again, allows his eyes to linger there longer than usual.  “Yeah, the roses are sick, mate.”  He lifts his eyes and Liam’s smiling at him.  It’s unexpected, just like Liam’s hand tattoo.

“Hullo again!” the adviser chirps, bursting into the room with his plunder.  “I’ve brought some waistcoats as well.  You’re just going to _love_ the new designs we’ve brought in….”

 

£.£.£.

 

Zayn hates to admit it, but he does feel a million pounds sterling in his new designer suits.

When they go back for the second appointment, the adviser is much more chill (and so is Liam surprisingly).  This adviser is all about helping Zayn to uncover his personal style so he’s able to select edgier pieces to update the more classic wardrobe Liam had already bought for him. 

On his days off, Zayn still prefers the comfort of his own things, and Liam, to his credit, doesn’t say a word about Zayn’s favourite pair of Docs or the ripped jeans.  Liam even goes casual sometimes, trading in his sleek suits for a cosy flannel.

Zayn thinks it softens the man exponentially, but he’d never tell Liam that.

 

£.£.£.

 

“We need to dial it up,” Liam tells him when they meet for dinner at some posh French restaurant.  Neither of them are particularly fond of the cuisine, but Liam had heard that a few of the junior execs had made reservations with their significant others, and he hoped it might start some rumours.   

“What do you mean by ‘dial it up’?”

“Well, I’m thinking I should propose to you within the week if we want to stay on schedule.”

“How romantic,” Zayn deadpans but Liam’s not paying attention.  His eyes are fixed on the doorway.

“Don’t look now but Smith, Briggs, and Costa are here!” he whispers excitedly.  “I’m pretty sure they’ve spotted us, too.”

“That’s good,” Zayn remarks, trying not to sound as bored as he feels.  “So you were saying?”

“Oh yeah—we should suss out how we want to do this proposal.  Like I was saying, I want to stay on schedule.”

“Too bad you can’t do it now,” Zayn says glibly.  “It’s the first of December which is one hell of an easy date to remember.  Besides, you can’t do much better when it comes to cheesy ambience than this.”  He waves his hand around to prove his point.  The place is ridiculously over-decorated; like someone was trying to one-up the Palace of Versailles or something. 

“Brilliant, mate.”  Liam pulls out a small velvet box from the inside pocket of his jacket.  “Well, at least _try_ to look like you’re excited, yeah?”

“Are we seriously doing this now?”

“Why not?” Liam returns.  “They’re looking at us,” he whispers suddenly, eyes darting towards the left.

“Who is?”

“Don’t look!” Liam hisses and Zayn catches himself just in time.  “Smith, Briggs, and Costa.” 

“Then bloody get on with it,” Zayn says, fluttering his eyelashes and smiling ‘lovingly’ at Liam.

It’s over in about three seconds, and Zayn’s not even sure whether Liam’s technically asked the bloody question or not.  It doesn’t really matter, though, because they’ve officially signed the contract which means they’ve agreed to be officially (fake) engaged.  They don’t kiss or anything (thank God), but they do hold hands and gaze at each other until the _hors d'oeuvres_ Liam ordered arrives.

Briggs comes over to the table then because of course she does.  “Couldn’t help notice you were here, Mr. Payne, Mr. Malik.  Thought it would be rude if I didn’t come by and say hullo,” the middle-aged woman greets them before pretending to just notice the rings.  “Oh my goodness—did you two just get engaged?” she gushes, hand fluttering to her chest.

“Yes,” Liam answers before turning to Zayn.  “Canapé, darling?” he asks, offering a bacon and onion bite-sized appetiser to his new ‘fiancé.’

“No, thank you.”

Liam narrows his eyes.  “Just one, love.  Ordered them especially for you,” he coaxes.

“No, really,” Zayn insists, backing away.  “I don’t want it.”

“ _Darling_ —”

“I don’t eat bacon,” Zayn manages to get in just before Liam shoves the mini tart down his throat.  “Remember, _babe_?”

Liam gets it then; eyes widening as he realises his faux pas.  “Of course—what was I thinking?”

Briggs smiles down at him.  “It’s easy to forget everything else when you’re in love,” she tsks before saying goodbye and returning to her table.

“That was bloody close,” Liam says under his breath, and Zayn couldn’t agree more.  They’re going to have to do better next time if they expect to pull this off.

All throughout dinner, Zayn keeps gazing down at the foreign object on his ring finger, thankful Liam didn’t get something plug-ugly.  Quite to the contrary, the ring’s beautiful (and expensive-looking).

“Something wrong with it?” Liam questions.

Zayn looks up in surprise.  “No, it’s nice,” he replies, tracing his finger over the engraved symbols and diamond embedded into the platinum band. 

“Should be,” Liam huffs.  “It’s Cartier.”

“Cartier?”

“Yeah,” Liam affirms, cutting into his filet mignon, “the love ring.”

And it probably shouldn’t bother Zayn—it’s just an arbitrary name given to a piece of metal after all, it shouldn’t _matter_ —but somehow it does.  It feels wrong to wear a symbol of love like this under the circumstances.  Sacrilegious even. 

But as usual, he’s probably thinking too deeply into things that don’t really matter.

 

£.£.£.

 

“You’re wearing matching rings,” Louis Tomlinson, Titan’s Director of Marketing and Public Relations, observes as Zayn hands Liam the file he prepared for the first ‘touching base’ meeting of the project. 

It’s their first sit-down at Titan, and Zayn’s been waiting for either Tomlinson or Walters to say something.  The rings seem so painfully obvious in the bright lights of Titan’s conference room, and Liam is doing everything possible to draw attention to his new piece of jewellery—everything from “accidentally” clanging it on the table’s edge to twisting it while Walters is speaking to him.

“Oh, you noticed?” Liam innocently asks and Zayn wants to bang his head against the table (solid oak it looks like, not glass like in the boardroom at Payne Innovations).  Liam may be accused of a number of things but subtlety isn’t one of them.

“Yes, so does it mean something?” the young exec presses.  It’s not Zayn’s place to say, but he feels like this Tomlinson character is a bit pushy.  Then again, Liam’s practically shoving the ring in both of their faces so there’s that.

“Well….”  Liam smiles lovingly at Zayn, and Zayn does his best to match his nauseating expression. 

“You’re engaged—I knew it!” Walters shouts merrily in his down-homesy American accent.  The man seems overjoyed, way more delighted than a CEO of a multi-billionaire dollar company should be about a union of practical strangers.   

And maybe, just maybe, Liam was right about this whole mad idea working.

“Yes, we are,” Liam confesses, reaching out a hand toward his secretary.  It stays there, grabbing the air, while Zayn rifles through the papers in front of him trying to work out which one Liam wants.  “Hold my hand, darling,” Liam orders with a tight smile, hand still hanging mid-air. 

Zayn gets it then, sheepishly setting down the papers to grab Liam’s hand a little too tightly in his nervousness.  Louis Tomlinson is watching them hawkishly, and Zayn wants to kick himself for the mistake.

“Yes, Liam proposed to me last Friday,” Zayn informs the Titan execs, batting his eyelashes at his ‘fiancé’ before getting ready to recite his carefully-rehearsed line.  “But I want to ensure you, Mr. Walters, that our personal relationship will have no effect on our dedication to this project.  Liam is passionate about this deal, and so am I.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that, son,” Walters says with warm eyes, chuckling in that easy way of his.  “I wouldn’t expect anything less from the promising CTO I’ve heard so much about.”  He turns to Liam then.  “And I’m glad you’re finally settling down, my boy.  There’s nothing as improving to a man as getting married and, eventually, starting a family.”

Zayn can’t help but blush at that and Liam starts coughing, releasing Zayn’s hand to cover his mouth.

Louis narrows his eyes.  “So let me guess…you’re planning a long engagement, right?”

Liam recovers, glaring at the Marketing and PR Director before catching himself.  “Actually,” he begins, fondly gazing at Zayn again, “we were thinking of tying the knot in May.  Isn’t that right, dear?”

Zayn’s speechless.  They hadn’t said anything about wedding dates, and he’s trying to work out how many months away May is while simultaneously not slapping Liam across the face for being a blundering idiot.

“Which day?” Louis asks innocently.

“4 May,” Liam answers automatically, digging the grave a little deeper.  The man couldn’t even be shrewd enough to say a date at the end of the month.  No, his boss had to choose the first fucking week in May. 

Louis sits back like a cat licking his paws.  “That’s a work day, isn’t it?  Odd, that you would’ve chosen that particular date for your wedding.” 

Zayn tries to place the date in his mental calendar.  “Yes, it’s a Friday,” he intervenes and Liam looks more than relieved to be out of the hot seat.  “It’s actually the Friday before the May Day Bank Holiday.  We’re planning a mini honeymoon afterwards and thought that having the wedding on Friday would give us three full days to enjoy the Riviera,” Zayn lies through his teeth. 

“Well, I hope we get invites,” Walters declares, not noticing the disgruntled younger man beside him.  “And before we get started, I want to offer my warmest congratulations to you both.”

They’re barely in the car when Zayn turns on Liam, eyes blazing.  “What the fuck was that?”

Liam loosens his tie, tugging at it like he can’t breathe all of a sudden.  “It’s fine; I’ve got it under control.”

“You better have,” Zayn hisses, “because I’m not walking down the aisle with you—no matter how much bloody money you offer me.”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist.  This’ll all be over by then, I promise.”

Zayn wishes he could be so sure.

 

£.£.£.

 

Zayn wants to scream when he hears the knock at the door.  He’s covered head-to-toe in blue paint—even has a huge smudge across his left cheek, on the tip of his nose, and through his messy quiff. 

Oddly enough, there seems to be more paint on him than the bloody wall he’s supposedly painting.

There’s another knock, and Zayn figures whoever’s there isn’t going to go away unless he specifically tells them to do so.  “Be right there!” he shouts, gritting his teeth as he gingerly sets down his roller in the pan and takes off his gloves. 

He opens the door to find his boss staring back at him.  Zayn groans inwardly because of course Liam would have to see him like this, when he’s looking like a damn—

“You look like a Smurf,” Liam observes, eyes crinkling with glee.  He’s trying to hold back a laugh, and Zayn gives him credit for that because Zayn well knows he looks ridiculous right now.  Even if he weren’t covered in blue paint, the jumpsuit is completely unflattering for anyone over the age of five. 

“Cheers, mate,” Zayn returns, wanting to ask Liam why the bloody hell he’s on his doorstep on a Sunday afternoon. 

“You should check the privacy hole before you open the door—especially in this neighbourhood,” Liam reprimands before strolling in uninvited.  “That’s what it’s there for, after all—to prevent your opening the door to unwanted guests.”

And yeah, it’s really hard for Zayn to bite back the retort on the tip of his tongue.  _Really_ fucking hard.

“There’s not much for anyone to steal here, is there?” Zayn shrugs, and he can tell Liam agrees with him by the way his eyes flicker around the tiny flat.  “And I’m surprised you were able to find the place again.”

“Got your address from your file and took a cab,” Liam explains.  “It’s much easier,” he adds like Zayn was taking the longer way because he enjoyed the scenery on the tube and DLR so much better.

“So what is it you need?” Zayn prompts, trying not to sound too much like he’s kicking his boss out before he even gets a word in, but Zayn’s got a wall to paint.

“I, er, wanted to discuss something with you,” Liam says, closing the door behind him.  He even locks it—jiggling the handle just right, wedging his cordovan under the door, and throwing a shoulder in the right place before Zayn hears the satisfying click.  It’s a little incredible, considering Liam’s only seen Zayn lock his door once. 

But Zayn doesn’t have time to be amazed by asinine things like that, not when his boss has just barged in unannounced on _Zayn’s day off_.  “There is something called a telephone, you know.  They even have these amazing contraptions called mobile phones now,” Zayn quips, picking a piece of dried paint off his fringe.  “I know you might not be up with all that new-fangled technology, being a CTO and all, but—”

“You would have let it go to voicemail,” Liam interrupts drily.

“It’s Sunday,” Zayn reminds his boss.  “Even God rested on the seventh day, Liam.”

“Some calendars count Sunday as the first day of the week so technically—”

“Did you come here to have an ecclesiastical discussion on comparative religions or was there a more pragmatic purpose to your visit?”

“Man,” Liam whistles, grinning a little.  “I feel like I should be giving you a rise in pay just for using all those big words in one sentence, Smurfette.”

“Why Smurfette?” Zayn scoffs.  “Why can’t I be Brainy or the dude with the tattoo on his bicep?”

“The eyelashes, I suppose,” Liam answers cheekily before seeming to catch himself.  “How about Painter then?” he says quickly, eying the roller and can of paint in the centre of the floor.  “Can we settle on Painter?” 

“Alright…yeah.  Painter it is.”  There’s an awkward pause, and Zayn wishes Liam would just get on with whatever his real purpose is.  Zayn doesn’t have time to bullshit around with his boss right now. 

When Liam finally speaks again, his voice is closer to the matter-of-fact, business tone Zayn’s used to.  “Why are you painting anyways?  Aren’t you just renting?”

“Yeah, but the landlord gave me permission to paint the walls; they wanted a good coat of paint anyway.”  He feels self-conscious for some reason, like Liam shouldn’t be here, like he doesn’t belong in Zayn’s flat, in his safe space. 

“Sky blue?” Liam questions.  “Thought you might go for green.”

“Green?”

“Yeah, thought it was your favourite colour,” Liam says, looking embarrassed again and now Zayn’s completely nonplussed.  He’s still not sure why Liam’s here and is even more uncertain how he remembered Zayn liked green when Zayn can barely remember mentioning the fact. 

“It is.  I don’t know…I just thought it would be nice to paint it like the sky, peaceful-like.  I was hoping it might open up the place a bit as well, not feel so bloody confining and all.”

Liam surveys Zayn’s work and nods his head appreciatively.  “Yeah, I get it.  So, uh…you need help?”

“You’re wearing a suit,” Zayn gently reminds him, taking the opportunity to admire the perfect tailoring.  If he’s honest, though, Liam’s probably a cinch to fit for any tailor.  Where Zayn’s all too-wide shoulders and too-skinny hips, Liam’s got perfect proportions.  (Not that Zayn’s spent much time examining Liam’s figure, of course; it’s just sort of hard to miss.)

“Maybe you’ve got something old that would fit me—I mean, if you don’t mind my lending a hand, that is,” Liam adds quickly, and there it is again, the almost sheepish look that seems so out-of-place on the self-assured young executive. 

For a moment, Zayn almost gives in, almost lets Liam help him.  Then he snaps out of it.  He remembers their arrangement and that Liam’s only there to check up on him probably, make sure he’s adhering to the contract.  “Liam, you don’t have to help me paint my flat.”

Liam seems taken aback at first, brown eyes blinking before his face hardens.  Zayn almost feels bad.  (Almost.)

“Actually, it’s rather pointless for you to be painting your flat anyway.  That was why I came here actually.  I wanted to talk over an idea I had.”

Zayn narrows his eyes.  He likes things sorted; he isn’t a massive fan of surprises, and Liam’s given him far enough surprises for one lifetime with this whole charade they’ve got going on.  “And I’m assuming this idea involves me?”

Liam rubs the back of his neck.  “Well, yeah.”  He glances about, eyes finally falling on the plastic-covered futon.  “Maybe you should sit down.”

Zayn’s going to strangle Liam soon if he doesn’t get on with it.  “Maybe you should bloody spit it out.”

“I was thinking…you should move in with me.”

“No.”

“Zayn, we have _an arrangement_.  You signed _a contract_.”

“I didn’t agree to move in with you!” Zayn sputters, absolutely incensed.  He can see anger in his boss’s eyes as he takes a step closer.

“Well, you agreed to be engaged to me!”

“ _Fake_ engaged, Liam!” Zayn shouts back at him.  “Fake engaged!” he repeats for good measure.  Zayn’s fuming, positively fuming as he paces back and forth on the tarp covering his small living area.  “Besides,” he adds sarcastically, “it’s a little early in the relationship to be talking about moving in, don’t you think?”

“You can quit the wisecracks because, believe me, I’m not any happier about this than you are.”

“Then why the fuck did you suggest it?”

Liam sighs, plops down on the futon without invitation.  “Because Louis Tomlinson—the Titan exec in charge of marketing—well, he was questioning the whole thing at the conference on Friday.  Said it was a bit convenient how all of a sudden I’ve got a fiancé when Walters likes family men and they’re going to have an opening for a CTO in the near future.”

“Wait—how did you know there was going to be an opening anyway?”

“It’s my business to know these things, Zayn,” Liam tells his secretary.  “But yes, Jones, the current CTO, is retiring on her next anniversary.”

“When’s that?”

“The first of April—plenty of time before our wedding date.”

Zayn gives him a long look.  “You do realise we’re not actually getting married, right?”

Liam rolls his eyes.  “’Course I do.  The idea of marrying you is just as disagreeable to me as it is to you.”

“You mean…the idea of marrying me is just as disagreeable to you as the idea of marrying you is to me?”

Liam scratches his head.  “I just said that.”

“No, you didn’t,” Zayn argues.  “You said—”

“Never mind what I bloody said,” Liam cuts in, clearly irritated.  “Now what were we even talking about?”

“You were explaining why you thought it was necessary for me to move in with you.”

“Right.  So that little shit—Louis, I mean—suspects I’m having them on about us being engaged—can you imagine that?”

“Outrageous,” Zayn clucks sympathetically, almost folding his arms before he remembers he’s a walking paintbrush. 

“Yeah, he basically came right out and said he thought our engagement was a stunt.  So in order to shut him up, I told him you were moving in with me.”

Zayn just glares at Liam for a full minute.  He’s got the height on him for once with Liam seated, and he’s taking full advantage of it.  “Well, then un-tell him because I’m not fucking moving in with you and that’s my final word on the matter.  My final bloody word, Liam!”

 

£.£.£.

 

It’s bitterly cold and dismal when Zayn moves his things into Liam’s flat the following weekend.  The snow from earlier that morning has turned into an unattractive grey sludge in the London streets, and Zayn’s glad he’s wearing his Docs instead of the flimsy designer shoes Liam had sent over to his flat.  (His old flat, on the other side of the river, in a less desirable post code; the one he should be living his acceptably-boring existence in right now.)

With a sigh, Zayn helps direct the movers as they take the half-a-dozen boxes off the lorry and up to the penthouse.  He tries to look like he knows where he’s going because, of course, Liam couldn’t even be arsed to show up. 

No, Liam just left an envelope in his inbox before departing for some techie conference on Friday.  The envelope contained a key and detailed instructions explaining which guest room Zayn would be occupying during his stay along with a directive not to touch anything in the main bedroom or office (as if Zayn would want to).

When the movers leave, Zayn takes in his swanky new digs.  He doesn’t have much to complain about except the fact that it lacks character.  It doesn’t look lived in, much like Liam’s office.  The kitchen’s nice though; so’s the view.  He can see half of London from here, can even spot the spires of Saint Paul’s Cathedral below, and it reminds him how much easier his daily commute is going to be.

He makes himself a jam butty, then goes to his room and stays there.  He’s not in the mood to talk to his new flatmate whenever the bloody hell he decides to stroll in.

It’s a minor miracle but somehow they make it through the week without killing each other.  It’s a lot, seeing someone else constantly, from sun up until sun down.  They travel to and from work together; they’re practically attached at the hip at the office through necessity, even making a few lunch dates for appearance sake; and now they share the same living space.  It would be a strain on a relationship for two people who actually like each other, but in the current circumstances, it’s almost intolerable.

By the following Sunday, Zayn reaches his tipping point.

“What’s the matter?” Liam asks.

“Nothing.”

Liam’s ticked off.  The tension in the room is fucking palpable even with some news show droning on in the background.  “You’ve barely spoken to me since you’ve been here.”

“And?”

“Well, it’s just that you’re making this whole thing uncomfortable.”

“Sorry,” Zayn replies but he doesn’t mean it.  He’s just trying to placate the other man and Liam knows it.

_“Zayn.”_

“If you want me to speak to you when we’re not at work or charading in public, you’re gonna have to put that in the contract.”

Liam stands up brusquely, starts pacing the floor like he always does when he doesn’t get his way.  “Why do you have to make this difficult?”

“Fine, Liam,” Zayn snaps, “what would you like me to say?”  He sits up straight and feigns like he gives a shit.  (Spoiler alert:  he doesn’t.)

“Zayn, I can’t rectify whatever it is if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

Zayn glares up at him.  “I’m not a computer glitch, Liam.  I’m not something you can resolve like a bloody help desk ticket!”  He storms towards his room (not technically _his_ room but the room Liam’s allowed him to occupy during their arrangement) and slams the door behind him (not too loud because technically it’s not his flat).

Liam has no such qualm as the front door slams hard, causing the lamp on the bedside cabinet to rattle back and forth.  Zayn assumes he’s gone off to the building’s fitness centre to work off some steam.  Zayn wonders why Liam doesn’t just put up a home gym in the other spare bedroom with how much time he seems to spend down there.

Zayn sulks as he lies in Liam’s guest bed, staring at nondescript walls.  He knows he’s acting immature, but he can’t help himself.  He just wants something that’s _his,_ wants some time to himself.  He feels like he’s suffocating, like he’s surrounded in everything foreign, in everything Liam Payne.

The thing is, he misses his old life.  He misses his old flat with the wonky lock on the door and the sky blue paint he barely got to enjoy.  He misses ordering takeaway from places whose numbers are still programmed in his phone and eating it in some worn jumper and the tattered batman pyjama bottoms he can’t bring himself to get rid of.  He misses binging on Star Wars for the eighth time.  He misses not being judged.

That’s why he can’t wait for the Christmas holiday to begin.  Six more days and he’ll be home, back in Bradford.  It’s not exactly alone time, but Bradford is a place he can be himself.

And he really fucking needs that right now.

 

 


	4. (in which Zayn has had it up to here with Liam’s proposals)

 

“Love you, babe; can’t wait to see you, too.” 

He hangs up and Liam is staring at him with _that_ look.  “Who were you talking to?”

“None of your fucking business,” Zayn replies, pocketing his phone, because _honestly_.

“I’d like to refer you to Section five, Clause three of the contract,” Liam rattles off and Zayn wants to throw something at him.  He’s searching about for possible projectiles when Liam clarifies his opaque statement.  “It’s the one about how you’re not supposed to be dating others while under our current agreement.”

Yeah, now Zayn _definitely_ wants to bung something at him.  He was talking to his little sister, but if Liam wants to think he’s Bradford’s biggest slag, then let him.

“I don’t really see what my dating life back home could possibly have to do with our arrangement, Liam.  I’ve done everything you’ve asked me to so I don’t think you’ve any right to tell me how I should act at home.”

“In other words,” Liam says coolly, “you’re admitting to openly disobeying the contract?”

Zayn’s seething.  “I’m not but what if I were?  The contract should only apply here.  This is my holiday so piss off.”

Liam’s glowering, hands balled into fists, as he glares at his secretary.  Then suddenly, his expression alters.  He smiles, looks proud of himself, and now Zayn’s scared.

“Liam, what are you thinking?”

Liam grins a little wider.  “I was just thinking that it’s a lovely time of year to holiday in Bradford.  Don’t you think?”

Zayn narrows his eyes.  “No one randomly decides to holiday in Bradford, Liam.  Especially not in fucking December.”

“Why not?  Besides, don’t you think it’ll look suspicious if you go back home for Christmas, and I stay here alone?”

“You’ve got your family,” Zayn reminds him, and Liam laughs drily. 

“I’ve got what exactly?  A mum I never talk to?  And whenever I do, she asks me why I never come around, and I don’t know how to tell her it’s because she’s married to the biggest bell-end on the planet.  Beyond that, I’ve a few relatives I haven’t seen since I was wearing nappies so no,” Liam laughs bitterly, “I don’t think anyone will be missing me unless you count the concierge at the ski resort.”

Sadness flickers in Liam’s eyes and Zayn almost considers inviting him to the Malik home before he remembers that’s definitely not a good idea for a trillion-and-one reasons. “No, I’ve already bought my ticket.  You can’t go.”

“You’re going to make me spend the holidays alone, Zayn?”

“You are _not_ going to give me a guilt trip!” Zayn huffs angrily.  “Not when I know for a fact that you have _two_ tickets for that ski resort in the Swiss Alps because I booked the trip myself, remember?”

Liam purses his lips together.  “I had to cancel one ticket, disinvite someone actually, because…well….”

Zayn sighs.  “Section five, Article three?”

“Yeah, bang on.”  Liam gives a lopsided smile, and Zayn would classify it as ‘adorable’ on anyone else but his boss. 

“Why don’t you ask Harry to join you then?” Zayn tries.  “Aren’t you two, like, best mates?”

“He’s going on some meditation retreat in Swansea.”

Zayn grimaces.  He can’t figure out which is worse—the meditation retreat or the fact that it’s in Swansea of all places.

Zayn tries to clear his head.  He’s not going to let Liam Payne push him into something he doesn’t want to do…again.  “I had you sussed as the type who’d be well content just to work through the holidays.”

“I would, but that still doesn’t solve the problem of my fiancé seeing someone behind my back.”

“Oh for the love of—!”

“Zayn, I’ll give you a bonus—a holiday bonus—since this wasn’t explicitly stated in the contract,” Liam interjects calmly.  “Lord knows you go through money like a sieve.” 

Zayn bristles a bit at that, but he’s not about to tell Liam why he asked for January’s payment early; it’s none of his damn business.  “No.”  He’s adamant about it, too.  He’s not backing down, not this time.

“ _Zayn_ ….”

“No, you absolutely, positively cannot travel back home with me, Liam, and that’s my last fucking word on the matter.”

 

£.£.£.

 

Zayn gets a window seat, his favourite, while Liam takes the aisle seat in the same row.  There’s an empty seat between them, like a defensive wall, and Zayn’s just fine and dandy with that.

Zayn’s sort of glad Liam splurged on plane tickets.  (But _honestly_ —who the fuck takes a flight from London to Bradford?  No one Zayn knows, that’s for sure.)  Flying means less travel time than if they were to go by rail.  At the minimum, it means two less hours where he’s forced to make small talk with his arsey, uptight boss.

And that’s a fucking win in his book.

Zayn peers out the window as they take off.  He watches until the Thames looks like nothing more than a squiggly line and the high rises, like the one he works in, appear as tiny dots on a map.  Eventually, he bores of the view and grabs the novel he stowed in the seat pocket in front of him.   

He’s just gotten to the good part, when he’ll finally discover who murdered the cabinet minister’s wife when—

“So…what are you reading?”

Zayn reluctantly lifts his eyes off the printed page and glares at the man a seat away from him.  “101 ways to murder your boss without getting caught.”

“Which number have you got up to?”

“Twenty-seven,” Zayn answers without missing a beat.

“Well, let me know when you’re done with it,” Liam quips, “because I might like to read it afterwards.”

Zayn very nearly cracks a smile at that.  Luckily, he catches himself just in time.  “Well, at least you don’t have to live with your annoying boss so.”

Liam looks almost hurt as he stares at the seatback straight in front of him.  “You don’t have to be such an ass, you know,” he says quietly, “not all the time anyway.” 

Zayn wants to tell him to piss off, that Liam’s got no right to call him out when the CTO is the most incorrigible person Zayn’s ever met.  But he’s tired of fighting so he just goes back to his book. 

When he discovers his theory was correct a few pages later, that the cabinet minister was the killer all along, he can’t even manage the smallest of smug smiles.

Zayn tucks the book in the seat pocket again.  He decides to take a short kip, shivering a little as he curls up facing the window.

When he awakes, they’re about to start their descent and there’s a blanket covering him.  He almost thanks Liam, but he’s sure it was the over-attentive flight attendant’s idea, the one that was blatantly flirting with his fake fiancé while he was trying to read—not that Zayn cares of course.  It’s just the principle of the matter.  The woman really should’ve checked if Liam was wearing a ring first.

But whatever.

 

£.£.£.

 

They touch down at Leeds Bradford Airport in the early afternoon.  It’s not until they’ve claimed their luggage that Zayn’s sleep-addled brain starts firing on all cylinders. 

“Fuck, I forgot to tell my mum you were coming.  _What?”_ he adds when he sees Liam’s peeved look.  “It’s not like you gave me a lot of advanced notice with the last minute travel change.”

“You could’ve told her I was coming when you asked her to pick you up at the airport.”

And yeah, that probably would’ve been the logical thing to do, but at the time, Zayn didn’t think it was the right moment to spring this whole engagement thing on his family.  Secretly, he was sort of hoping Liam would change his mind and stay in London.

(That didn’t happen.)

And now he feels like he’s going to be sick.

Liam must see the panic in Zayn’s face because his voice isn’t quite so full of reproach now.  “What is it?”

Zayn gulps, stares at Liam with dead eyes.  “We’re gonna have to act like a couple the whole time we’re around them.  _The whole time_ , Liam.”

Liam blanches and selfishly, Zayn’s glad he’s not the only one who is freaking-the-fuck-out right now.  Liam licks his lips.  “Okay, here’s the plan—”

“Sunshine!” his mum’s voice calls out, and it’s like the voice of reckoning.  They’re just going to have to wing it and hope for the best. 

He sets his bag down just as a small body comes barrelling into him.  He laughs, chastises her a bit when he sees her eyes are wet, but he doesn’t let go of her, not completely.  He keeps a hand on her arm, her shoulder.  It’s comforting to know she’s there, always has been. 

“Where’s dad?” he asks at last, searching around the immediate vicinity.

“Oh, he wasn’t feeling up to making the trip—his knee, you know.”  And yes, Zayn does know; he should’ve remembered.  “He can’t wait to see you later though.”  She sniffs happily.  “Goodness, I’ve missed you, sunshine.  It’s been far too long.”

“Five months, mum,” he smiles.  Zayn wonders if she was always this tiny as he wipes away an errant tear on her cheek.

“Don’t remind me!”  She fiery again, wagging her finger and lecturing him in front of the other travellers and their families.  “And don’t you ever think about moving farther away than London, Zayn Javadd Malik.  I mean it.”

Zayn smiles sheepishly.  “Sorry, mum.”

She takes a moment to survey her son from head-to-foot.  “Look at you,” she hums, shaking her head.  “You’re running yourself into the ground—just look at those dark circles under your eyes!  Disgraceful!” she clucks.  “You’re fortunate you’re so handsome to start with, young man.”

“Mum—”

“Don’t ‘mum’ me,” she shushes him, and he can’t help but let out a snort.  “You’ll have to let me talk to that boss of yours.  You’re always too busy to talk, always working, and it isn’t good for you.  No business is that important, Zayn.”

It’s then Zayn realises he’s forgotten something.  To be more correct, he’s forgotten some _one_.  He closes his eyes tightly and hopes beyond hope that Liam won’t be there when he reopens them, that the other man didn’t overhear his mum’s ranting.

But he isn’t that lucky.

Liam clears his throat and steps forward.  His mum looks curiously at Zayn, awaiting an explanation, and Zayn knows he can’t prolong this introduction any longer. 

“Mum, this is Liam.  He’s my, uh, boss.”

If his mum’s shocked by the revelation, she doesn’t show it as she shakes Liam’s hand.  “Nice to meet you, Liam.  Would it be rude to say I wasn’t expecting Zayn’s boss to be so…young?”

“Not at all, Mrs. Malik.  I’ll tell you my secret though.”  Liam gets down to her level and lowers his voice.  “I’ve gotten to where I am so quickly by overworking my secretaries,” he jokes, winking down at her as he straightens up again.

His mum loves it, and Zayn can’t believe Liam can be this charming.  Sure, he’s assumed the man is capable of unearthing a teaspoon of charm when called upon.  Zayn’s even seen some glimpses of it at Titan and with the ‘ladies’ that used to (dis)grace the office on a weekly basis.  _Still._

“Well, it’s good to know you do take _some_ time off,” Zayn’s mum smiles.  “It’s Trisha, by the way.  So Liam…what brings you to Bradford?  Do you have family here as well?”

Trisha looks to Liam, Liam looks to Zayn, and Zayn looks to his scuffed-up boots.

“You didn’t tell her about us at all—did you, _babe_?”  Liam’s got a glimmer of irritation in his voice, most of which is disguised by the sickeningly-sweet tone that Zayn’s beginning to loathe. 

Zayn glares at him.  This wasn’t supposed to be part of the deal.  He wasn’t supposed to have to lie to his _mum_ , for crying out loud.

“ _Darling_?” Liam prompts, putting an arm around Zayn’s shoulders.  Zayn wants nothing more than to shrug off the uncomfortable weight and tell Liam to piss off, but then he remembers the contract, and well, fuck.

“Mum, Liam and I….  We’re….”  He can’t finish it.  His mouth’s gone dry, and his mum is giving him the mum look, and he can’t finish the bloody sentence.

“Engaged,” Liam supplies, face etched into a strained smile.  Zayn can tell he’s annoyed, but it isn’t like it’s Zayn’s fault.  Not really.  After all, Zayn wasn’t the one who crashed someone else’s trip home.

“Engaged?” Trisha coughs.  She collects herself and shoots daggers at her son, and really, Zayn’s getting well and truly knackered, what with everyone blaming him for everything.  He’s a (mostly) good person, and he doesn’t deserve this shit.

“Engaged,” Zayn echoes because he feels left out not saying it.  He offers up his hand and the ring on his finger as proof.  Then Liam finally drops his arm from Zayn’s shoulders and laces their fingers together. 

His mum blinks at their joined hands.  She glances from face to face as if to make sure they’re not taking the piss.  There’s a weird sparkle in her eyes, and Zayn wonders if she suspects something’s up because this isn’t like him at all:  bringing home a boy (or girl) unannounced, getting secretly engaged…the whole lot really.  

Besides, his mum _knows_ him, right?

“How did this happen?” Trisha asks.  “Late nights at the office, boys?”

And Zayn really loves his mum, but he doesn’t always support everything that comes out of her mouth. 

“Something like that,” Liam smirks, and Zayn wants to punch him in the throat.  “And just so you know, er, Trisha,” Liam adds as he drops Zayn’s hand and hoists his duffle bag over his shoulder.  “I know you obviously weren’t expecting me.  There was a last minute, uh, change in plans, and I don’t want to put you out so I’ll be booking a hotel nearby.  Zayn, would you get on that, please?”

“Got it,” Zayn affirms, back in secretary mode as he fishes out his phone to search for available rooms.

“Wait a minute, sunshine.  Liam is more than welcome to stay at our house.  You both can share Zayn’s old room,” she suggests.  “I mean, you two _are_ engaged so I don’t see the problem there.”

Zayn wants to shout at the top of his lungs that _she_ might not see the problem, but _he_ does.  He sees a massively-gigantic problem there. 

Liam’s on it, too, thankfully.  “No, that’s fine,” he rushes out.  “I really don’t want to impose.  Besides, it’ll make more sense for me to stay at a hotel; I’ve a few loose ends to wrap up—business deals, you know.”  He smiles a saccharine-sweet smile at Zayn.  “I really shouldn’t have left London at all, but I just couldn’t stand the thought of being away from this one for so long.”  Liam pinches his cheek.  “Isn’t that right, lovebug?”

“Right.”  Zayn offers a tight-lipped smile as he tries not to cringe.  It’s the best he can manage under the circumstances.

“Well, that’s settled then,” Trisha says, leading the way towards the car park.  “There’s a lovely hotel just minutes from the house so don’t bother searching, Zayn.  We’ll just make a quick pit stop there on the way home so you two can reserve your room.”

Zayn starts choking, and Liam slaps him roughly on the back with a look telling him to get a grip on himself. 

Trisha turns around.  “You alright, sunshine?”

“Yeah, mum.  Sorry, you were saying summat about the two of us booking a room?”

Trisha places her hands on her hips.  “Zayn, honestly,” she scolds him.  “We can’t have your fiancé staying at a hotel all by himself, can we?  Especially not after he dropped everything just to come up to Bradford to be with you.”

Zayn opens his mouth, but he can’t think of a single bloody word that would aide his case.  By the time he comes up with a sliver of an excuse, she’s already started off again, Liam right beside her.  He can hear them chatting about something or other, and it makes him even angrier somehow as he jogs to catch up with them. 

They’ll get separate rooms, he tells himself.  They’ll get separate rooms, and it won’t be completely horrible.

 

£.£.£.

 

“What do you mean there’s only one room left?!” Liam practically screams at the hotel clerk.  Liam doesn’t completely lose his cool often, but Zayn can see his boss is about three seconds from reaching over and grabbing the little man with the round glasses by the collar and yanking him across the tall counter. 

“I apologise, sir,” the man says with an affected air, “but with the convention in town, you are fortunate there is anything available at all.”  He straightens his glasses, hoists his nose higher, and stares with a respectful defiance back at them.

“Is there a problem?” Trisha inquires, walking up at the worst fucking time.

“I was just explaining to these gentlemen,” the snippy clerk relates, “that we only have one room available presently—and that one only because of a cancellation an hour ago.”

Trisha creases her brow.  “So what’s the problem?”

“No problem at all,” Liam quickly recovers, flashing a bright smile at Zayn’s mum.  “My apologies, Mister”—he glances at the man’s badge—“Jenkins.  I must have misheard you.”

“But sir—”

“We’ll take the room,” Zayn interjects before they’re ratted out. 

“Excellent, sir,” the little man replies, fastidiously flipping a page in a book.  “What name should I put the reservation under?”

“Payne,” Liam replies swiftly.  “Liam Payne.”

Trisha waggles her eyebrows at her son behind Liam’s back, but he pretends not to see.  He knows what she’s thinking, figures that she’s picked up on the fact that Liam’s surname is the same as the company he works for.

But he’s so not ready to have that conversation yet.

  
£.£.£.

 

Everyone likes Liam, and it’s sort of getting on Zayn’s tits.

It’s not like he’d prefer his family to hate his (fake) fiancé, but he doesn’t want them fawning all over the man either.

And okay, it’s mostly the girls and his mum, but his dad seems won over, too.  Yaser and Liam talk sports as Safaa sits and gazes at the businessman unapologetically.  She’s been staring at Liam like this since he first walked into the house, but the fact that he called her ‘beautiful’ didn’t really help.  Zayn suspects his little sister has a crush on his fiancé, and he hopes she gets over it before the end of the visit because otherwise she’ll be sharply disappointed down the road. 

He eavesdrops a moment, a little surprised that Liam can carry on a conversation about premier league transfers when Zayn’s never seen him watch a match in the brief time they’ve lived together.  Then again, he’s sure Harry probably talks Liam’s ear off on the subject whenever they get together.  Still, it makes Zayn ponder, makes him wonder if he knows Liam as well as he thought.

“Zayn, can you help me in here?” his mum calls, stepping out of the kitchen. 

Doniya immediately looks up from where she’s sitting on the settee with Waliyha, sharing pictures from uni.  “I can help, mum!”

“No, no, honey.  I miss Zayn helping in the kitchen; it’s been so long.”

Doniya shrugs.  “No sweat.  Me and Wali will do the dishes after.”  Wali shoots her sister a glare, and Zayn chuckles as he follows his mum into the kitchen.

“Good, I wanted to talk to you,” Trisha says as soon as she closes the door, and Zayn really should’ve known.  He feels beads of perspiration starting to form on his forehead, and it has little to do with the fact that the range is on.

“Yes?” he asks hesitantly, trying not to look guilty about the fact that he’s brought a (practically) complete stranger into their family home, passing him off as his fiancé.  He brainstorms some possible answers for the grilling that’s about to occur.

The last thing he’s expecting is for her to hug him again, standing on her tiptoes in her house slippers.  “You’re an angel, Zayn.  An absolute angel.”  She starts sniffling, and Zayn’s not sure why.  He kisses the top of her head and rubs her back for a moment before stepping away.

“Everything okay?” he checks, stooping down slightly to peer into her eyes.

She nods, wipes away a tear like she’s being foolish, and pulls herself together.  “I just wanted to tell you in person how grateful we are that you were able to help with the mortgage and bills the last couple of months.  Since your dad’s been out of work and they’ve cut my hours…it’s been difficult.”

“I'd do anything for you guys—you know that.”  He rolls up his sleeves, then washes his hands.  “I’m just glad I was able to help.”

“Oh, and I can’t tell you how happy I am that you found someone like Liam.  He seems a real catch, Zayn—so obviously smitten, too!  It warms my heart to see how loved up you two are.”

“Thanks, mum,” he says, trying to sound like he means it.

“You should give him a tour after dinner.  Show him your room and all that.”

“Yeah, maybe,” he shrugs, thinking Liam would rather do most anything than take a tour of Zayn’s childhood home.  “I can always do it another time though.”

“Just make sure you do it before you go back to London, Zayn,” his mum says, a funny note in her voice.  “Because who knows if we’ll still have the house the next time you come up.”

Zayn’s about to respond when one of the sauces starts bubbling over.  Then, it’s all hands on deck until dinner is served.

It’s a nice family dinner, too, something he’s missed more than he even knew.  Liam’s polite, a little quieter than usual.  The outsider seems content to observe the Malik family dynamic at first.  Sometimes, Zayn even forgets Liam’s there—especially when he’s groaning at one of his dad’s jokes or fighting with Waliyha over who should get the last samosa. 

Trisha apologises for the level of spice in the curry because she wasn’t expecting any guests, but Liam shushes her, tells her it’s the best home-cooked meal he’s ever had.  Liam takes the heat of the dish in stride, and Zayn’s rather impressed. 

But he’d never tell Liam that.

 

£.£.£.

 

Nine days. 

Nine fucking days having to share a hotel room with Liam Payne.

Technically, it’s nine nights they’ll be locked up together like sardines.  He thought it was bad enough moving into Liam’s spacious London flat, but this is something else entirely. 

Zayn’s not sure how he’s going to manage as they set their bags down before the correct door.  He rummages for the key card in his wallet, then waits for the lock to click.  Liam walks straight in when it does, leaving his secretary with the bags outside in the hall.  Zayn just rolls his eyes and lugs everything inside.

“I thought we were going to have two doubles,” Liam complains before Zayn even has a chance to close the door. 

“You suppose housekeeping could bring up a cot?” Zayn proposes, eying the king with dismay.  He’s knackered and just wants to get some sleep after the long trip. 

“Not likely,” Liam grumbles.  “They’re full up.  Besides, I’m not about to sleep on a bloody cot and throw my back out.”

“Me neither.”

They stare at each other for a minute, each daring the other to make a move. 

“Well, it’s just for one night,” Liam says at last, and Zayn wants to laugh in his face because no, it’s not for one night. 

“Just found out my cousin works here at the desk.  She’s friends with my sisters—especially Waliyha—and there’s no way she’s not telling them if we book separate rooms.”

“So that means….”

“We’re stuck sharing,” Zayn finishes, crossing his arms against his chest.

“Bloody hell,” Liam groans, tipping his head back in frustration.

“Yeah, we’re fucked, mate.  Royally fucked.”

With disgruntled sighs, they start unpacking, one suitcase flipped open on either side of the massive bed that takes up half the room.  They largely ignore one another as they fill the wardrobe and silently divide up the cupboard drawers.

“I’m gonna take a quick shower,” Liam announces when he’s done unpacking, sliding his empty suitcase in the back of the wardrobe. 

“You don’t need my permission, mate.”

The bathroom door slams behind Liam, rattling the picture frames on the walls, but Zayn couldn’t be arsed whether Liam’s ticked off with him or not.  Maybe it’s Bradford rubbing off on him, but Zayn’s not going to act like the grovelling, deferential secretary when Liam’s butted in on his holiday.  No fucking way.

 

£.£.£.

 

The next morning, Zayn wakes up gasping for breath, his recent nightmare still fresh in his mind.

That’s when he realises it wasn’t just a nightmare.  No.  It’s Christmas Eve, and he’s forgotten to get his ‘fiancé’ a gift. 

And really, Zayn’s just conquering life at the moment.

“You finally awake?” Liam inquires.  He’s fully dressed, wearing jeans and a cream-coloured cashmere jumper that fits snug around the chest area.  Zayn didn’t even know Liam owned jeans.  Or a jumper.  It’s sort of mind-blowing.

“Zayn?”

“I, uh, forgot to get you a gift,” Zayn sputters out.  “I didn’t buy you a bloody Christmas present, and we’re opening gifts with my family tomorrow morning.”

“Shit,” Liam curses, “I forgot, too.”

“I’ll ring Doni.  She’ll know what to do.”

 

£.£.£.

 

Doniya knows exactly what to do.  She takes them to a shopping centre—The Broadway—good-naturedly chiding them during the drive for being too busy to buy each other presents. 

“You didn’t, uh, tell mum, did you?”

“No, ‘course not,” Doniya laughs.  “Just said you two wanted to do some last-minute shopping, and we’d meet everyone for a late lunch.  Dad needs extra time to get ready anyway.”

Zayn nods and goes back to fiddling with the radio.  He stops at a song he hasn’t heard in ages.  It’s a track off Craig David’s first album, the one he scratched the shit out of because he played it so much.  Then again, he doesn’t want Liam to know how much he loved that CD, how he’s still probably got every lyric, every run, memorised.

He changes the station.

“Go back!” Liam orders from the backseat, and Zayn, surprised, flips back.  “Love that tune!” Liam says, bopping his head.  He starts singing along in a smooth falsetto, and Zayn can’t help but smile as he joins in.

“You two are adorable,” Doniya declares, shaking her head, as she manoeuvres into the car park. 

 

£.£.£.

 

“They got a Debenhams’s?” Liam asks Zayn once they’re inside.  Doniya’s busy taking pictures of a ‘Christmas tree’ made out of massive ornament-like spheres, and it gives them a minute alone.

“Fuck if I know.  I’ve only been here like twice, Liam.”

“Great,” Liam snorts, and Zayn rolls his eyes.  It’s clear Liam’s feeling as irritable as he is, neither of them having gotten much sleep with the less-than-desirable sleeping arrangements.  Liam kept waking him up, saying Zayn was hogging the duvet while Zayn kept swatting the other man every time he infringed on his personal space.

Which was about every five minutes.

“Zayn—don’t you think I should buy presents for your family?”

“We haven’t got time for that.  I’ll just put your names on the gifts I’ve already brought with me.”

Liam doesn’t seem entirely happy with that arrangement, but it’s not like they have many better options at this point.  “Fine.  So what do you want—for Christmas, I mean?  There’s no sense in us buying things we won’t like, and I’d have no bloody idea what to get you.”

“I could use a watch,” Zayn suggests.  “Or if you don’t—”

“A watch is great,” Liam cuts him off.  “And I could use a tie.”

“A tie?” Zayn asks incredulously, folding his arms over his chest.  “How generic can you be?  I’ll look like a total knob if I buy my fiancé a bloody tie for Christmas.”

“Yeah, you’d probably just select something obnoxiously loud in magenta anyway.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Zayn spots Doniya walking towards them again.  “Just give me an idea, Liam.  We haven’t got much time,” he hisses. 

“Fine.  I’m almost out of cologne,” Liam says, and yeah, Zayn can roll with that. 

“Which one?”

“I don’t remember.”

Zayn would strangle the man before him if it weren’t for the fact that they’re in a very public place and his sister would be witness to the crime.  “Liam—”

“Just get me something you like,” he manages to get out before Doniya joins them, and Zayn’s forced to keep the remainder of his comments to himself.

For the time being anyway.

 

£.£.£.

 

Christmas goes off without a hitch.  They feign surprise when they open each other’s gifts, but luckily, Zayn doesn’t have to fake loving the watch Liam bought him.  It’s classic and timeless (and insanely expensive according to Doniya who helped him shop).  Liam also seems to like the designer cologne Zayn painstakingly selected after one hour and two shopgirls flirting with him in the fragrance department.  (He finally had to tell them he was buying the gift for his fiancé because they obviously couldn’t take a hint with the ring.)

On Boxing Day, his mum cooks traditional Yorkshire fare, not letting anyone into the kitchen this time.  After they eat, it’s back to the living room, his father previewing the football fixtures as they hunker down for the afternoon.  Zayn and Liam end up on the small settee.  They’re on opposite sides at first, but then Zayn’s feeling drowsy, coaxed by the lull in the football match and his sisters’ constant chatter.  He scoots in closer, rests against Liam’s chest.  Automatically, Liam wraps an arm around Zayn’s shoulders, and Zayn can’t help but notice the way his mum is smiling fondly at them.

Liam pecks his cheek a short while later, and it’s nice.

It’s not horrible anyway. 

 

£.£.£.

 

“He seems like a driven young lad, your Liam,” his dad tells him when they’re the only ones left in the living room later that evening.  Safaa’s giving Liam that tour Zayn never got around to doing, Waliyha’s out with friends, and Doniya and his mum are off somewhere having “girl talk” and Zayn doesn’t even want to know.

“He is,” Zayn confirms.  ‘Driven’ is precisely the word to describe Liam.

“Handsome, too—or so your sisters keep saying.”

“Uh-huh,” Zayn replies, studying his hands.

“He’s good to you, yeah?” Yaser questions and Zayn wonders if his father can see through the charade, even when his mum and sisters can’t. 

“Yes, he’s good to me.”

Yaser regards him a moment before nodding his head.  “And you’re happy, beta?”

Zayn freezes.  The question’s caught him off guard.  He licks his lips and is about to answer when Yaser grimaces suddenly, clutching at his knee. 

“How is it?” Zayn asks once the pain leaves his father’s eyes.

“It’s…alright,” Yaser tells him through gritted teeth.  “Think I might go back to work in a few weeks here.”

Zayn raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything.  From what he’s heard from his mum, going straight back to work doesn’t sound like the best of ideas.  “Thought the doctor recommended a total knee replacement.”

“Your mum talks a lot, doesn’t she?” Yaser laughs drily but it isn’t without warmth.  Zayn knows how much his dad loves his mum, how much he loves all of them.  His dad (and his family as a whole) has always been the one rock in Zayn’s life, his solid landing plane no matter what.

“So what happened with the claim at work?” Zayn asks hesitantly.  He knows he’s opening a can of worms here but he’s can’t keep avoiding the issue.  “Are you going to get worker’s compensation for the accident?”

“They’ve finished reviewing the incident,” Yaser states, a proud, patriarchal tone to his voice.

“And?” Zayn prompts.

“And they’ve decided that I was negligent in operating the equipment, that I should’ve realised the calibrations were off.”

“Weren’t you working double overtime that day?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Yaser says bravely.  “They investigated the claim and now I have to accept the result of their findings.”

Zayn snorts because of fucking course his dad’s company came to that conclusion (one which, no doubt, saved them tens of thousands of pounds).  “Well, they can go right ahead and fuck themselves then.”

Yaser gives his son a stern look.  “Zayn, I’ve raised you better than that.  That company has supported you since you were in nappies.”

Zayn bites the inside of his cheek.  He wants to scream that it hasn’t been the company but his father who’s been supporting him his whole life, but he knows it won’t help anything if he gets into it a fight with his dad right now.  “So what are you going to do?”

“I was approved for ESA benefits last week.”

“That’s not enough.  You know that’s not enough, not with the girls in school, not with medical-related costs and—”

“I told you,” Yaser says sternly, “I’m not going to have the procedure.”

“Why?”

“Because I need to get back to work, Zayn, and if I have a knee replacement, I’m looking at a recovery time of three to six months.”

“But dad—”

“Beta, it’s my problem to worry about,” Yaser states curtly.  “Thank you for your help the last two months; I don’t know what we would have done without you.”  His father’s eyes are full of layers of emotions.  “But I don’t want you to have to worry about supporting both yourself and us on a secretary’s salary.  It isn’t right.”

His father moves to get up out of his armchair and Zayn immediately moves over towards him.  “Need help?” he asks and Yaser reluctantly accepts his offer, loathing to show his weakness even to his son.

More than anything, Zayn wants to tell his dad that it’ll be alright, wants to disclose the extra income he’s receiving from his contract with Liam.  He doesn’t know how to explain it without revealing everything, though, and he knows his father wouldn’t understand. 

Some days, Zayn can hardly understand it himself.

 

£.£.£.

 

“I didn’t know you were into comic books,” Liam says as they lie in bed the following night.  It shocks Zayn, the fact that Liam’s talking to him.  They generally don’t speak much to each other at the hotel (unless it’s bickering about duvets or shower rights).

“What about it?” Zayn asks edgily.  He’s not in the mood for Liam’s piss-taking, not at two in the morning or whatever it is.

“Nothing,” Liam says indifferently.  “Just didn’t know, that’s all.”  Liam pauses and Zayn stares up towards the ceiling, waiting for him to continue.  "Safaa showed me your room yesterday on that tour, and I saw your collection.  She told me you wouldn’t talk to Waliyha for two weeks after she ripped the cover off your favourite Iron Man one.”

“Three weeks,” Zayn corrects and maybe it’s his imagination, but he thinks the bed shakes a little with silent laughter.  “What of it?”

“Nothing, just thought you were only into stodgy stuff like Shakespeare and the lot.”

Zayn furrows his brow.  “What gave you that idea?  Because I studied English you think I only like Shakespeare or summat?”

Liam clears his throat.  There’s an awkwardness in the air.  “Nah, it’s just…Harry might’ve said something about how ace it is to have someone else around who’s into proper literature.”

Zayn wishes he could see Liam’s face because he can’t quite decipher what he’s getting at from his words alone.  Zayn decides to ask him point-blank.  “So what do you think?”

“I think it’s ace to have someone else around who’s into comic books.”

Zayn remembers then what Harry said about Liam wanting to design the boardroom after the one at Wayne Enterprises in the Dark Knight trilogy.  Zayn can’t help but think the well-polished, tech-savvy man lying next to him is so much more than the bland exterior he shows to the world.

And maybe it’s not important, the fact that Liam loves comics, but it feels like it is.

 

£.£.£.

 

“I’ve got to get back to London.  Today”

And really, those eight words shouldn’t upset Zayn so much, but they do.  He’s just gotten out of the shower, barely put on a t-shirt and boxers, when Liam’s surprised him with the news.

Moreover, it’s the day before New Year’s Eve and they’ve already made plans with his family.  They’re supposed to look at shops, suss out where they might want to register.  Tomorrow, they’re going ice skating. 

And then there’s New Year’s.  Zayn’s going to look like a right bell-end celebrating the New Year without his bloody fiancé.

It’s everything Zayn can do not to pelt the man right then and there.  “It’s Saturday and Monday’s a bank holiday, Liam.  What the fuck can you do in London that you can’t do here?”

Liam doesn’t answer, just starts throwing clothes into his suitcase.  “My job comes first, Zayn.  Maybe you don’t understand that, but I’ve got priorities.”

“Yeah, well, I happen to be your secretary so I know you haven’t got any pressing appointments at the moment, Liam,” Zayn shoots back, folding his arms across his chest. 

“Something came up.”

“Before or after me mum mentioned wedding plans?”

Liam slams the suitcase shut even though it’s far from packed.  “That has nothing to do with it.”

“Good,” Zayn snorts, “because you’re the one who’s gotten us into this mess by pulling a date in fucking _May_ out of his arsehole.”

“Don’t forget I’m technically your boss, Zayn,” Liam warns, fists balled at his sides.  “And contract or no contract, if you think you constantly can get away with being stroppy with me, you have another think coming.”

Zayn gets right in his face, pushes him against the chest.  Liam might be bigger than him, but the Bradford in Zayn isn’t going to back down from a fight.  He’s not going to let Liam talk to him like that, boss or not.  “What you gonna do about it, then?” 

They’re face-to-face, glaring at each other until something snaps.

Zayn’s not sure who makes the first move, but somehow, they come together.  A groan spills from Liam’s lips as Zayn presses against him, hooks a hand in Liam’s belt loop and pulls him close.  Liam’s just as eager, fisting Zayn’s t-shirt as he licks into the other boy’s mouth.

They shouldn’t be doing this.

But just as quickly as the thought enters Zayn’s consciousness, it flies out the window.  Liam seems to have even fewer reservations as he pushes the suitcase off the bed, clothes flying every which way.  Next, Liam’s shoving him onto the mattress, springs creaking as Liam climbs on top of him.  He pulls Zayn’s legs, pivoting him around so that his hips are centred on the bed, and fuck, Zayn didn’t realise he enjoyed being manhandled so much.

It’s something he’s definitely going to remember though. 

“You need a good fucking,” Liam whispers in Zayn’s ear.  He sits back on his heels and takes his shirt off to reveal the perfectly-chiselled abs Zayn’s only managed to get small glimpses of until now.  They’re even better on close examination; Zayn’s sure he could write sonnets about them if desire and need weren’t blazing so strongly within him right now.  “Need a right good fucking, and I’m gonna give it to you; give you what you need.”

“Fuck you,” Zayn returns, pulling Liam closer so they’re mouths meet again.  Zayn bites at Liam’s lower lip, follows the man as he tries to pull away.  Liam lets out a growl, palming the erection stretching Zayn’s boxers. 

Zayn falls back against the pillow again and stares up at his boss.  He’s never seen the man like this.  He knew Liam was fit, but the image before him blows him away.  Liam’s naked from the waist up:  inked sleeves on full display, chest heaving, hair dishevelled, lips red and swollen.  What really turns him on, though, is the way Liam’s _looking_ at him.  There’s lust in those chocolate eyes—pure, unadulterated lust.

And fuck, Zayn wants him.

“This needs to come off,” Liam states, marked displeasure in his tone as he tugs at Zayn’s t-shirt. 

Zayn shucks it off, then lays back down.  He scratches his nails down Liam’s chest, down his taut stomach muscles until he reaches the man’s happy trail.  He fumbles at Liam’s zip and once he’s able to get a hand in Liam’s pants, he gasps.  He’s never been with a man who was packing quite that much down there.

But there’s a first time for everything.

Liam screws his eyes shut tight as he bucks into his secretary’s hand, dry friction causing him to mewl and moan out like a porn star.  Zayn’s own erection feels painfully hard, and he’s about to give himself some relief when he feels a hand swat his away.

“On your hands and knees,” Liam orders and fuck, Zayn almost shoots his load right then and there.  Somehow, he complies, losing his boxers and kneeling in front of Liam on the bed.

“Haven’t got a condom,” Zayn falters out as he feels Liam’s smooth hands against his heated skin. 

“I do,” Liam replies, hands disappearing as he leaves the bed and treads across the room.  Zayn twists his head around to see the man step out of his trousers, dick bouncing as he removes a package from his wallet.  Zayn can’t help but tug at his leaking cock while he waits.  Liam watches him and Zayn gets off on it, pushing his ass up higher and moaning for the other man’s benefit.

“Shit,” Liam stutters out.  “So fucking hot.”

The bed dips as Liam crawls behind him, grabbing his hips roughly.  “Stop touching yourself,” he commands.

“Don’t want to,” Zayn mumbles petulantly, stroking himself a little slower, smearing the pre-cum around.

Liam slaps him—not hard enough to hurt but enough to make a point. 

“What the fuck?” Zayn snarls, whipping around to face the other man. 

“Just trying to get you to listen,” Liam offers with a shrug.  “You never fucking listen.”

“Well, do that again, and I’ll punch you in the jaw.”

Liam smirks.  “Note taken.”

“Good,” Zayn snaps.  “Now fuck me like you promised.”

“Lube first,” Liam reminds him, waving a small tube in front of his face.

“Make it fast,” Zayn groans, offering himself up to Liam again. 

Liam listens, prepping him as quickly as Zayn can stand.  Soon, he’s got three fingers in up to his knuckles, scissoring them as Zayn writhes and hisses against the sheets. 

Zayn’s legs tremble, his hole burns with a delightful stretch as sweat drips from his forehead and onto the bed.  His whole body is aching with need, and he feels like he’s going to explode if Liam isn’t in him soon.

When Liam starts to push in, tip pushing past the first ring of muscles, Zayn nearly blacks out.  The stretch is so good, so painfully good.  It’s everything.

But when Liam finally starts to _move_ , begins muttering filthy phrases Zayn didn’t know the polished businessman was even capable of uttering, it’s more than words can describe.

Liam dicks into him at a furious pace, taking out all the aggression of their earlier row on Zayn’s ass (and Zayn’s perfectly fine with that).  Zayn eggs him on, bracing himself against the headboard as he shouts for Liam to go faster, harder.  Skin slaps against skin, the sounds of sex echoing off the walls of their small hotel room.  He knows he’ll feel it tomorrow, but right now he wants to be fucked into oblivion.

And he’s almost there.  He can feel the familiar coil rising within him.  Liam grunts with the effort, a low, virile sound that goes straight to Zayn’s dick. 

All of a sudden, Liam slows the pace.  His nails dig into Zayn’s hips as he pulls almost all the way out before slamming back into him without warning.  A few more times like that, and Zayn’s coming untouched.  It’s everything he can do not to fall completely apart as Liam pulses a few more time, then spills into his condom. 

Zayn’s completely shattered as Liam pulls out gingerly.  He collapses next to Zayn, smelling of sweat and sex and panting with the recent exertion.  Zayn fades out almost instantly.

 

£.£.£.

 

When he awakes, Liam’s gone and so is his suitcase.  In his place, there’s a note on the hotel stationery, alerting Zayn that Liam’s spoken to his family and made his excuses. 

And selfishly, Zayn’s glad.  If Liam’s skipped town already, it means they can postpone the awkward I-can’t-believe-I-just-slept-with-my-boss/secretary talk.

And Zayn’s more than okay with that.

His phone rings, and it’s Doniya.  He checks the time and groans.  He’s going to be late for the brunch his mum planned. 

“I’m sorry, Doni,” he rushes to say after he accepts the call.  “You see, I fell back to sleep and—”

Doniya cuts him off with her cackling, and really, Zayn’s not sure what’s so funny.  Their mum’s gonna be more than a bit narked when he shows up at brunch an hour late and Liam-less. 

“If you can pull yourself together,” Zayn begins, not even bothering to mask his irritation, “I’d love to know what’s so bloody hilarious.”

“Nothing, I’m just sure you were right knackered after saying goodbye to your hunk of a fiancé,” she cracks, and Zayn’s starting to think he might have to re-evaluate the fact that she’s secretly his favourite sister.  In fact, after that comment she’s running dead last…a good thirty lengths behind Wali who he swears was just put on this Earth to torment him relentlessly.

“I’ll hop in the shower now,” Zayn groans, hurdling himself up and throwing his legs over the side of the bed.  “Ah—fuck!”  There’s a sudden sharp pain in his backside, and in retrospect, maybe he shouldn’t have tried to get up so bloody fast.

“What’d you do?” Doniya asks, voice laced with concern.  “Stub your toe or summat?”

“Nah, just sat up,” Zayn answers honestly. 

“Oh my God, Zayn!” Doniya shrieks in his ear and at first he hasn’t a clue what she’s on about.  “Ugh, that was _way_ too much information about my little brother’s sex life, thank you very much.”

Zayn cringes.  “Uh…sorry about that.”

“Just give me a ring when you’re ready to be picked up.  Mum says she understands if you can’t make it for brunch, by the way.”

“Okay, love you, Doni.”

“Love you, too, dork,” Doniya returns, and Zayn can almost see her fond smile, the one that reminds him so much of their mum’s.  “And just so you know, I told Wali not to be a brat if you’re all mopey.”

“Mopey?” Zayn echoes, scratching his head.

“Yeah, because Liam’s left early, ya knob.”

And oh…of course.  He’s glad his sister reminded him that he’s supposed to be upset his fiancé had to return to London.  Zayn can’t look relieved, can’t be celebrating the fact that he no longer has to pretend he’s happily engaged in front of his family.

(Well, technically, he still has to keep the act up, but it’s a whole lot easier when Liam’s not there, when they don’t have to pretend to be a couple of lovesick fools.)

He feels better and maybe Liam was right.  Maybe he _did_ need a good fucking—a good, no-strings-attached fucking. 

But he’ll breathe his last breath before he ever admits that to Liam.

 

 

 


	5. (in which Zayn definitely isn’t catching feelings for his boss)

 

Everything feels a little different after Bradford.

It’s almost like they’ve taken a little of it back to London with them, like Zayn’s bottled up the feeling of home, of being with his family, of being able to laugh with Liam.  It’s still awkward around the flat sometimes but not horribly so.  Zayn reads, watches telly, lounges around in joggers and an old t-shirt while Liam does whatever he does in his office. 

They don’t discuss what happened the morning before New Year’s Eve.  It was a mistake, a one off, a product of too many hormones and not enough space.  It wasn’t against the contract _per se_ , but it was inappropriate.  It shouldn’t have happened.  Full stop.  Luckily, they’re both adult enough to move past it.

And never ever mention it again.

They have enough to talk about anyway—now that they know they have so many common interests:  tattoos, comic books, cuisine, music, films….  Before Bradford, Zayn never would’ve imagined that Liam Payne, his uptight boss, would be up for a curry and the latest Marvel film.  Never in a million years.

Of course, they don’t do things together on a daily basis.  Most days they eat separately and barely pass by each other in the spacious luxury flat.  Zayn, for his part, usually goes out of his way not to bother the CTO who seems especially preoccupied of late.  After all, they’re flatmates.  They’re not real fiancés or even friends.  Liam is Zayn’s employer, and that fact couldn’t have been made clearer from the beginning. 

But there’s one major difference:  things are so much more tolerable now that they don’t want to kill each other eighty-seven percent of the time.

 

£.£.£.

 

It’s Saturday and Zayn’s trying to suss out why he’s up so early as he wipes the cobwebs from his eyes.  He’s searching the cupboards for the Weetabix when Liam clears his throat. 

Zayn blinks his tired eyes.  “Sorry, am I in your way, mate?”  He finds his cereal, then steps to the side so Liam has more room.

“No you’re good,” Liam says, putting the kettle on.  “I was just, uh, going to say that Valentine’s Day is next week.”

“So?” Zayn yawns, standing on his tiptoes to grab a bowl from the top shelf.  As he pours his milk, he thinks about Valentine’s Day, how he hasn’t much bothered about the day for the past two or three years (hasn’t really had to).  He makes a mental note to order his mum some of those orchids she likes and sits down with his breakfast.

“Zayn, it’s _Valentine’s_ Day,” Liam reiterates, and now, spoon halfway to his mouth, Zayn gets it.

The thing is, they haven’t had to do much on the fake relationship front since they’ve gotten back from Bradford.  It’s been so busy at the office that having to think about much else has been impossible.  The last time they went out and made a show of it was Zayn’s birthday.  Since then, they’ve laid low.  Liam hasn’t asked Zayn to attend any corporate events or dinner parties (hasn’t attended any himself either), and it’s been great. 

“Oh, of course,” Zayn says receptively as the kettle whistles and Liam tends to it.  Zayn doesn’t want to look like he’s unwilling to fulfil his end of the bargain because he isn’t.  “We should probably make reservations somewhere special and talk it up, yeah?”

“Actually,” Liam begins, carrying two cups in his hands as he takes a seat across from Zayn at the breakfast table, “there’s a charity event.”  He slides Zayn’s cuppa towards him. 

Zayn doesn’t even have to look to knows his tea is exactly how he takes it.  “What’s it for?”

“The Royal Horticultural Society.  They’re going to have it all done up like a mini preview for this year’s Chelsea Flower Show.”

“Yeah, okay.  Just let me know the details, and I’ll be there.”  Zayn takes a sip of his tea and tries to wake up.  “Anyone from Titan gonna be there?”

“Yeah, I think Walters and Tomlinson.  Not sure who else.”

Zayn yawns again and smiles when Liam yawns right after him.  “Guess it’s a date then,” he says before realising his gaffe.  “I mean, not like a _date_ date, but—”

Liam laughs it off.  “I get what you mean.”  He stands up and downs the rest of his tea.  “I should be getting along here.  I wanted to go into the office today for a few hours.”

“You need help?” Zayn offers.

“Nah, mostly just want to check that some updates went through.”

Zayn cocks a brow.  “Can’t you delegate that to someone?  The CTO of Payne Innovations shouldn’t have to check updates.”

Lim gives him a tired smile.  “Should be back in a few hours.” 

Liam leaves soon after and Zayn goes back to bed.  The flat seems cold now, and he can no longer remember why he got up so bloody early on a Saturday in the first place.

 

£.£.£.

 

The limo hasn’t even parked before the flashing lights commence.

Zayn shudders a little.  He hates this part of being Liam Payne’s fiancé the most.  He hates the shouting, the hubbub, the society bullshit.  He hates the fact that he’s seen as an ornament decorating the arm of the powerful and attractive CTO. 

Of course, it’s even worse _inside_ these events most of the time.  He really hates when people strike up a conversation with him, and he can’t think of what to say without embarrassing himself (and Liam by default).  It’s even worse when they talk to Liam like Zayn isn’t there.  (It happens a lot, too.)  They compliment Liam and tell him how well he’s done with a suggestive wink while giving Zayn a once-over.

And it kind of makes Zayn’s stomach turn because this is not why he went to university, to be the arm candy of Liam fucking Payne.

But he grins and bears it.  It’s a job.  (It’s also selling out on his self-respect but he doesn’t think about that too much.)  He usually just has a few drinks, tries to loosen up.

He’s getting better at it, the whole PR bullshit.  Pretty soon, he’ll have it down pat, be able to ‘turn it on’ for the cameras like Liam does.  Shining, glittering, confident Liam.   Zayn sort of admires this side of his boss.  Liam’s never awkward at these things, not like he is at the flat or even sometimes in his office.

“Ready, Zayn?”

Liam’s opened the door for him, and he’s looking worried, like Zayn might have changed his mind about getting out of the car or something.  Zayn corrals his thoughts and tries to get in the right headspace.  “Yeah, ‘m ready,” he reassures the other man as he steps out of the limo. 

A bulb flashes right in his face, and he feels like he’s going to have a fucking heart attack.  He’s dazed and disoriented, stumbling over the kerb. 

Then a protective hand is pressing against his back, propelling him forward through the dense crowd.  “I got ya,” Liam whispers in his ear.  “Keep your head down and keep moving.”

Zayn’s hands tingle, and he tries to remember how to breathe.  Liam’s still whispering in his ear, and it helps block out everything going on around him.  Zayn tries to focus on just Liam, the feel of the man’s arm clinging tightly around his waist now, guiding him towards the hotel’s entrance.

It’s a long while before Zayn’s heart stops hammering.

“The fuck was that about?” he shudders out when they finally have a minute to themselves in a hallway just past the coat check.

Liam clenches his teeth.  “Ah, there are a ton of celebrities at this thing—footballers, pop stars, the lot.  There’s a ridiculous amount of paps, and apparently, they’re all assholes.”  He looks at Zayn, something unreadable in his chocolate eyes again.  “We can leave if you want.”

“No, I’m fine,” Zayn says, trying to sound like he means it.  “This…this is important.  Walters is here and everything, yeah?”

“Yeah, but….”  Liam stops himself.  Zayn wishes he knew what the other man was about to say, but it doesn’t seem like Liam’s going to be divulging that information anytime soon. 

“I’m _fine_ , Leeyum,” he repeats, offering a small smile as proof.  “Now, let’s go in that ballroom and show them who the best CT-motherfucking-O in Britain is, yeah?”  He flicks Liam’s tie out of his waistcoat and Liam laughs before tucking it back in.

“Cheeky bastard.”

“Takes one to know one,” Zayn grins back.  Liam takes his hand then, clasping it in his own.  Zayn can’t get over how warm the other boy feels, how easily their fingers lace together.

Suddenly a steely look clouds the young executive’s face.  “Alright, here we go,” he sighs.  “Showtime.”

 _Showtime…_ that’s right.  Zayn’s almost forgotten that they’re here for a reason.

Good thing Liam’s there to remind him.

 

£.£.£.

 

The charity event is being held in a lavishly-decorated ballroom, draped with roses and romance.  (It _is_ Valentine’s Day, after all.)  They’re seated at a table with Walters and his husband, and it isn’t a coincidence—far from it.  Indeed, Zayn rang the organising committee last week and made a particularly large donation to the Royal Horticultural Society on his boss’ behalf.  As instructed, he mentioned that the CTO would be ‘extremely pleased’ if he could be seated at a table with his good friend Walters.

And Liam got what he wanted, just as he always did.

Honestly though, Zayn’s not complaining.  Walters is a decent bloke, and his husband is no different.  While Liam chats animatedly with Walters about transatlantic markets, Zayn strikes up a conversation with Walters’ husband, an artist from Yorkshire with a passion for gardening.  They’re discussing which nutrients should be added to the soil of the man’s garden when Zayn hears it:

“Jones will be retiring near the end of the year so….”

Walters keeps on talking and Zayn hastily glances at Liam who’s gone pale.  Zayn does his best to finish the conversation with Walters’ husband before snuggling closer to Liam, a ploy to find out what’s going on.

Liam clears his throat when Walters finally finishes speaking.  “That’s funny.  I heard Jones was retiring the first of April.”

Walters chuckles.  “That rumour must have been an April Fool’s Day joke.  Technically, she’s able to retire in April; however, she wants to tie up all the projects she’s got going—you know, all those annoying loose ends.”  Walters winks at a stoic Liam.

Zayn doesn’t want to think of the consequences of this new information, this offhanded remark which could potentially destroy Liam’s carefully-crafted timeline.  In short, it means that the fake wedding date in May falls months before there’ll ever be a job opening at Titan.

Zayn reaches for his drink. 

 

£.£.£.

 

“You look surprised,” Zayn observes a short while later when they’re the only ones at the table.  Everyone else is either dancing or networking, and he’s glad he doesn’t have to play a part anymore (not completely anyway).  He lowers his voice a few notches, tries to disguise the slur that’s starting to creep in.  “Is it because of what Walters said about Jones retiring in October?”

“Hmm?  No.  Well, I mean, of course I was surprised by that.  It kind of throws a spanner in the works, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, suppose so,” Zayn agrees, nodding like a bobble-head until he realises how silly he must look.  He’s sort of stunned Liam’s taking it so well.  “So what was it that had you puzzled?”

“It’s just you grew up in Bradford, and...I didn’t know you knew so much about gardening,” Liam declares with admiration as his lips turn up and warm chocolate brown eyes squint down at him.  “You _are_ full of surprises, aren’t you, Zayn Malik?”

“Never judge a book by its cover, Leeyum,” Zayn replies coyly before emptying his glass of wine.

Liam waves over a waiter with a tray to replace it, also taking one for himself.

“Cheers,” Zayn says, starting to feel the buzz turn into something deeper as he drains the next glass to Liam’s amusement.  “So what have you been working on?  You spend so much time holed up in your home office lately.”  Zayn sucks in a breath, wonders if he gave the wrong impression somehow.  It almost sounds like he resents the time Liam spends away from him, tinkering with his computer.  He doesn’t.  (He doesn’t have a right to.)

Liam doesn’t seem to read anything into the question, though, and Zayn lets out the breath he was holding.  “Just boring tech stuff, that’s all.”

“Tell me about it.”

Liam’s eyes brighten, and Zayn can’t help but think he’s a big nerd at heart.  (They both are.)  “I’m trying to construct a new CMS that will allow us to integrate emerging channels with our existing ones.”

“A new content management system?” Zayn translates.  He marvels at how committed Liam is, how hard he’s working for a man he owes very little to—a man with not even half his integrity—even while contemplating a move to Titan. 

“You’ve come a long way, Zayn.”  He peers at Zayn strangely for a long moment before his eyes shift down and to the left.  It’s a habit, Zayn’s noticed, a nervous tick.  “I guess Harry was right about you being perfectly-suited for the job.  You’ve really caught on quickly, and…and you make everything so much easier.”

Zayn can’t help but blush.  “I’ve good teachers is all.  Feel like I’ve taken a crash course in business and technology since I’ve started this gig.”

Liam looks proper chuffed, and it’s sort of cute.  “And?”

“I don’t know…it’s not what I want to do in my life ultimately, but it hasn’t been as bad as I thought it would be.”

“No?”

“No,” Zayn confirms.  He feels foolish, feverish, but maybe it’s the wine.  He’s not used to it, not used to this whole scene, and maybe that’s a good thing.  He needs to stretch his horizons and that’s exactly what he’s been doing since he came to Payne Innovations.

Since he met Liam really.

Liam slides out of his chair then, body rocking to the music of some eighties bop Zayn’s mum turns up when it comes on the radio.  Liam winks cheekily, and Zayn already knows where this is going before the other boy opens his mouth. 

“What do you say we show ‘em how it’s done, babe?”

“I don’t dance.”

“Come on then,” Liam cajoles, brushing away a strand of hair from sparkling eyes. “If you can feel the rhythm, you can dance, Zayn.”

“Nope.  Not happening.”  Regardless, he watches how Liam’s hips sway back and forth in a seamless movement that reminds him of how Liam types code.  Zayn can’t define either of those two things, but he can appreciate them.  He can appreciate the beauty and fluidity and—

Fuck.  He’s had too much to drink.  His mum always said that wine does funny things to you.  It isn’t the wine, though, that clasps onto his hand and pulls him to his feet.  It’s Liam.

Zayn laughs and tries to follow along with Liam’s silly dance moves.  He can tell Liam’s messing about just for him, just to make him smile, just to put him at ease.  It does something to Zayn.  

When the song switches to one that’s down tempo, he breathes a sigh of relief because he’s shattered.  The room’s starting to blur and so are his thoughts.  He’s about to find their table when he’s hit by the scent of Liam’s cologne, by hints of bergamot and cedar.  It mixes with the fragrant scent of fresh-cut roses filling the room, and it’s overwhelming his senses.

Liam pauses a moment, looking at Zayn with a soft expression.  “What you thinking?”

“You smell nice,” Zayn replies drowsily, too knackered to make something up.

“Should do,” Liam chuckles.  “I’m wearing the cologne you bought me for Christmas.”

“S’nice,” Zayn exhales.

Soon Liam’s whispering in his ear, urging him to stay on the dancefloor a while longer.  It’s Valentine’s Day after all.  Zayn rests his head on Liam’s shoulder, breathes him in.  He closes his eyes and lets the older man support him as they lazily sway across the floor.

Liam stops moving suddenly, and Zayn looks up at him in confusion.  Brown eyes sparkle with an intensity Zayn’s only seen when they’re closing a deal.  He’s mesmerised.  His breath hitches as Liam moves in closer.  He tilts his head back.

Their lips meet.

It’s like a crashing of waves on a rocky shore at first; a tidal wave.  After the initial surge, the kiss transitions to something softer.  It’s gentle waves lapping at a sandy beach beneath a brilliant sunset.  It’s delicate ripples on the surface of a calm ocean.

It takes Zayn’s breath away.

“Should get you home,” Liam murmurs against his lips, and there’s an aura of innuendo in there. 

Zayn’s about to respond when someone coughs beside him.  It’s Walters, and the old man looks chuffed-to-bits.  “Sorry to interrupt you two lovebirds,” he starts, waggling bushy eyebrows, “but we’re headed out, Alan and me, and I wanted to say goodnight to you both.”

Zayn manages a polite goodbye despite the fact that he feels like an idiot.  He should have realised Liam’s motivation for the kiss, that it was all staged for Walters’ benefit.  Unfortunately, he got wrapped up in the ambience, let himself enjoy the taste of Liam’s lips a little too much. 

He’s lonely, is the thing, and he’s had far too much wine.  Still, it’s no excuse.

“Well, I guess we’re all done here,” Zayn announces after Walters leaves them.  He takes a step away from his boss—no sense in crowding him now.  Thankfully, he’s feeling somewhat steady on his feet, Walters and reality sobering him up rather quickly.

“Yes,” Liam replies, something distant in his expression.  “I’ll ring the driver and meet you in the lobby in five.”

Zayn nods, mumbles something about collecting their coats as Liam departs.  He can’t wait to get back to the flat so he can sleep off whatever he’s feeling.

He’s never drinking wine again.

 

£.£.£.

 

February turns into March and March turns into a big fucking mess.

It’s his family mostly.  They keep asking him about his relationship with Liam, and he has to keep lying.  The lies get increasingly bigger, spreading their tentacles out to his mum’s friends and childhood mates and distant cousins.  Everyone’s congratulating him.  Everyone’s wondering when the invites are coming. 

And it’s really starting to get to him.

His mum and sisters keep offering to come down to London to help him with wedding plans.  They say he needs to get on the ball, that the wedding’s only ‘X’ weeks away.  Doniya says it’s not like him to put off organising something, that that there must be a reason. 

So he lies.  He tells them he’s already found the perfect venue, but he’s waiting for the reservation to be finalised before he sends out anything official.  He assures them that the catering and cake have been taken care of.  Liam and him will be going in for separate fittings soon, and they’re both happy with the colour scheme.

The lies start snowballing.  Soon, Zayn doesn’t even want to answer when he sees it’s his family calling.  He wouldn’t, in fact, if it weren’t for the updates on his father’s condition.  (Turns out his dad did go back to work in February against the doctor’s orders.  He ended up falling and fucking up his knee so badly, though, that he didn’t have any choice but to have the surgery.)

“How’s everything going with your dad?” Liam asks one night at the flat.  They’re sat on the sofa, not watching anything but not really talking either. 

“S’fine,” Zayn tells him, not meeting Liam’s eye.  He needs to keep this professional, doesn’t need to worry his boss about his personal problems. 

Besides, they’ve got a fake wedding date looming on the horizon.

He’s tempted to blame Liam for putting them in this predicament, but he knows the other man is as much a wreck as he is.  Liam’s busy with work even after Zayn calls it a day.  The Titan deal is his foremost concern, the one that keeps him up nights, but various other projects weigh on the overworked CTO as well.  Besides, Harry keeps pestering Liam, asking his best mate how he can help with the wedding, and it’s much harder for Liam to keep Harry at bay when he works in the same building as them.  Liam’s also started getting calls from someone named ‘Karen’ but that’s probably none of Zayn’s business.

“How’s everything with Walters?  Making any headway?”

Liam nods enthusiastically.  He’s excited to talk about the thing he cares most about in the world—his career.  “Yeah, think he’d offer me the job if he could.”  Liam scratches the back of his neck, and Zayn watches his neck muscles strain.  He isn’t used to seeing Liam in a vest, his bare, inked arms changing his appearance completely.

He isn’t used to seeing Liam in a vest, but it’s something he could definitely get used to. 

Zayn struggles to recall what they were discussing.  Walters.  Right.  “You mean, you think he’d offer you a position if there was an opening.”

“Well, there will be one eventually.  I’ve been working on Louis lately because he’s Walters’ right-hand man, and I’ve almost got him sussed.  Thought he’d be a complete knob, but he isn’t so bad after you get to know him.”

Zayn rocks back and forth slowly.  “Louis still think we’re faking it?”

Liam smirks.  “Nah, we’ve got ‘em all completely fooled.”  He looks down and to the left then, as he often does, smiling at a joke only he can hear.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.  It’s just that I was thinking how ace it would be if we could tell everyone…that we’ve been pretending all along, I mean.”

Zayn swallows, picks a thread from his shirt.  “Yeah, it’d be sick, man.”

 

£.£.£.

 

And then comes April.

Walters decides to throw a massive party to celebrate the successful completion of the Titan-Payne project.  Liam is happy, he must be, even if it’s not evident all the time.

Zayn should be happy, too.  He’s put in countless hours on the Titan project himself.  Besides, it’s April which mean they’re nearing the end of a long road.  Zayn won’t be under obligation to be Liam’s fiancé anymore.  Soon, he can do whatever he wants with whomever he wants.  Soon, he can move back into a flat of his own.  Soon, he can stop lying all the time.

Soon, after Walter’s party, everything will be back to normal.

 

£.£.£.

 

“Come on, let’s go inside.” 

Zayn licks his lips, doesn’t dare look at the man sitting beside him on the bench.  “Could we just…stay out here for a little while. I’m not ready to face them all yet.”

Liam sighs.  “We’ve got to do this, Zayn.  Think about it…think about how easy it would be to pretend to fight now, to break off the engagement when everyone’s there.  You know, emotions are high and we’ve both had too much to drink and—”

“But I haven’t,” Zayn protests weakly.  “I’ve barely had a drink all night, Liam.”

“That’s good!  Makes it more believable,” Liam nods, not looking at Zayn anymore.  “I’ve only had a couple myself….”  He does look at Zayn then, eyes searching.  Zayn is dying to know what he’s thinking, but then Liam is turning away before he can ask.  “Maybe I need another before we do this thing.”

Zayn shivers a little as a cool breeze skims off the trees, sending a few more burnished leaves dancing to the ground.  “What do you want me to do, Liam?”  It’s a resigned question, not a challenge.  He hasn’t got an ounce of challenge left in him if he’s honest.

“It’s gotta be simple,” Liam coaches.  “I’ll go in first, have a drink.  You wait a couple minutes, then follow me.  Maybe you could throw my drink at me—try not to get the tie though since it’s silk.  The suit can be laundered.”

Zayn glances at Liam’s tie.  It’s a nice one—a Burberry check in shades of rose pink and claret.  The old Liam would’ve worn a boring black tie to an event like this, and Zayn likes to think he’s had a slight influence on the other man, even in a small way.  The old Liam never would’ve bought this tie, would’ve said it was too loud or too _something_.

A strange feeling settles in his stomach as he thinks about the stupid tie, about how Liam will likely have it long after Zayn’s gone.

“Something wrong?” Liam asks suspiciously.  “You’re not getting cold feet are you?”

Zayn shakes his head.  “No, I was just wondering what I should say—you know, after I dump the drink on you,” he fibs, clearing his head.

“Oh…yeah.  Say whatever you want—don’t get too foul-mouthed because Walters probably wouldn’t like it but make it believable, yeah?  You can call me a ‘bastard’ or something, tell me you want to end it.  I was thinking you might fling the ring at me for added effect.”

Zayn stares down at the engagement ring on his finger.  The platinum band feels heavy and cold, like the albatross from that poem whose title evades him at present.  “You’ve thought a lot about this, haven’t you?”  He didn’t intend for his question to sound like an accusation, but Liam doesn’t seem to notice. 

“Well, we want to get this right, don’t we?” Liam replies matter-of-factly, expression cool and clear.  He’s back to business mode, and it’s grating on Zayn’s nerves.  “It’d be pointless to have gone through all this and then muck it up at the end.  The wedding’s a month away after all, and we’re not going to have many more chances like this.  We’ve got to end it tonight, and it’s essential we make it look good.”

And Zayn knows all this, he does.  It’s just…he doesn’t like endings.  He’s the type of person who starts a new book before finishing the last one, if only to temper the profound loss he feels when confronted with the final page. 

He doesn’t like endings at all.

But it’s more than that.  It’s so much more, and he’s surprised Liam hasn’t seen through him because…Zayn’s a fake.  He’s been trying to act like this whole thing is just pretend (because it is), but he doesn’t _want_ it to be that way.  He’s been a double agent, playing both sides, hiding himself so even _he_ has a hard time remembering what’s real most days.  His mind plays tricks on him more often than not, imagines a life where Liam really does care for him, a life where Zayn isn’t a pawn in some stupid ploy to get Liam a lucrative position with a competitor.

Like right now.  The garden’s aglow with fairy lights and the only sounds come from a few crickets, the trickle of water from the twin fountains, and the distant whisper of the party.  It would be so easy to continue to pretend if Liam would only let him.

Liam clears his throat.  “We should do it now; it’s getting late.”

“I can’t,” Zayn whispers when the crickets finally take a breather, and it’s too quiet now.  He can’t even hear the noises drifting in from the house anymore.

“Zayn,” Liam begins carefully, deliberately, “you promised.”  Zayn doesn’t reply, and he can feel Liam’s anger rising by the second until it boils over, infecting the sereneness of the setting.  “For God’s sakes, Zayn.  What the bloody hell do you think I’m paying you for?”

Something about the monetary reminder makes Zayn’s stomach lurch, makes him feel even more like a fake than he did before.  Part of him wishes he could throw every single penny at Liam in some kind of grand gesture, some kind of _statement_ , but he knows it would be counterfeit indignation.  He’s already spent a great deal of what Liam’s paid him so far—some going to student loans and the rest to his family. 

Still, Liam wasn’t supposed to bring up the money right now.  The fact that Liam’s paying him for this, that Zayn’s just doing a job for his boss, doesn’t fit in with the fairy lights, or the violin music, or _anything_. 

But somehow, it makes it easier to commit to the dirty task in front of them.  There’s nothing holding Zayn back now, no fanciful notions that this thing between them means more than it does. 

He clears his throat, steels himself for what’s to follow.  “Yeah, you’re right.  Let’s get this over with, once and for all.”

 

£.£.£.

 

The whole thing goes off without a hitch.  Zayn aims carefully as he splashes the clear contents of Liam’s glass at his ‘stunned’ fiancé.  They raise their voices, shout vitriolic words.  People stare.  Shocked whispers fill Zayn’s head until he doesn’t think he can take it anymore, until Niall’s offering to take him home.

Niall tries to convince him to stay at his for the night, and Zayn almost accepts the invitation.  He changes his mind last minute, though, when he thinks about how guilty he’d feel accepting Niall’s comfort and sympathy when he doesn’t deserve it. 

Zayn thanks his good mate, and tells him he’ll be fine staying in one of Liam’s guest bedrooms for the night.  (He always stays in a guest bedroom, but Niall doesn’t need to know that.)  Niall, the solid lad he is, doesn’t try to argue, just takes him to Liam’s.  Before Zayn opens the car door, Niall makes him promise to ring him if there’s another fight or if he needs anything.  It makes Zayn feel like total crap somehow _._

Liam looks triumphant, almost wildly so, when he stumbles in completely pissed two hours later.  He says the tears were a great bonus, that Zayn should consider going on the stage, and Zayn can’t help but laugh.

Zayn wants to talk about the next steps, about moving out and his position at Payne Innovations, but Liam’s in no condition to discuss anything at all now.  Indeed, the older man passes out in a drunken stupor on the sofa a minute after collapsing on it. 

And if Zayn decides to sleep in the master bedroom, no one has to know.

 

£.£.£.

 

The next morning, Zayn wakes up with an ache in his chest.  It’s early, just past dawn, and he figures Liam’s going to sleep off the hangover.  It gives him time to do what he has to do.

Zayn spent most of the night thinking about the future, and he’s decided it’ll be easier if he just leaves now.  After all, it wouldn't do for him to stay on much longer at the flat.  It would just make people ask questions and neither of them want that.

It’s amazing how many things he’s collected in the short time he’s stayed with Liam, and even more so, how his belongings have scattered all over the flat.  They’ve permeated the living areas until there’s an almost ZaynLiam feel to the place.  He tiptoes around, double- and triple-checks everything to make sure he’s packed every last item.  He doesn’t want to leave anything behind.

When he’s done, he takes his suitcases into the hall.  Then, he places a glass of water, the bottle of Tylenol, his spare key, and the ring—he’d been reluctant to part with it at the party—on the coffee table.  He doesn’t put a name to the emotion he feels when he gazes at a sleeping Liam for what will, no doubt, be the last time. 

He doesn’t say goodbye, doesn’t even think it.  He doesn’t need closure, and Liam’s closure will come with the last cheque deposited into Zayn’s account and a letter of intent from Titan.

Zayn doesn’t like endings so he isn’t going to give this interlude one—not any time soon at least.

 

 

 


	6. (in which things go from bad to worse)

 

The girl’s sobbing when she bursts into Human Resources.  Zayn recognises her as Philippa, the chatty blonde from the Tech Department that Harry assigned as Zayn’s replacement that morning.  She’s actually the third replacement in two days:  the first one being dismissed as incompetent by Liam almost immediately upon arriving at the thirty-ninth floor; and the second, quitting Payne Innovations after enduring three whole hours with the difficult CTO.  Harry’s doing his best to comfort the poor girl, pulling Barb in for extra support before the door closes behind them with a resounding thud.

“You think she’ll pack up, too?” Niall asks conversationally, stealing an apple from Harry’s fruit bowl and chomping into it at once.  He grimaces a little, like he wasn’t expecting the taste, but then he shrugs and takes another bite, chews it thoughtfully.  “I bet you ten quid she does.”

“Sorry, I’m not stupid enough to accept that offer,” Zayn replies, turning back to the monotonous pile of paperwork Harry dumped on his adopted desk that morning.  He’s not complaining though.  He’s just glad he doesn’t have to work upstairs after everything that happened this weekend.  If he had to, he might well be out the door of Payne Innovations himself, hang everything.  Luckily, he’s sure Liam wants to see him even less than Zayn wants to see Liam—especially since his former fiancé hasn’t even tried to contact him after Zayn, admittedly, crept away from Liam’s flat like a thief in the night.

Five minutes later, the girl’s still sniffling as she exits Harry’s office and leaves HR.

“Payne the Younger is becoming a chip off the old block, eh?  Those two are gonna make everyone pack it in if they’re not careful.”  Niall grunts and shakes his head.  Zayn goes back to his work.  “Oi, I heard Dan Payne was doing a number—you know, making the rounds—again.”

“Yeah?” Zayn says without looking up.

“Yeah, a few of us have nicknamed him ‘Hurricane Payne’ because he goes around leaving destruction and wreckage everywhere in his path.”  Niall crunches loudly into the apple.  “Did he ever visit you and Payne Junior?”

“No, thankfully.”

“Hmm.  That’s interesting.”  Niall waves down his boss as he exits his private office.  “Well?  You convince her to stay?”

“Yes, thank God,” Harry confides, nodding gratefully in Barb’s direction as she returns to her desk on the other side of the office.  “I gave the girl the rest of the day off though; she deserved it.”

Zayn couldn’t agree more.  “So she gets to go back to her department tomorrow then?”

“Yes…which means there’s an opening for a lucky person to be the CTO’s administrative assistant.”  Harry plants his gaze on Niall, and the Irishman almost chokes on the last of his apple before he pitches it in the bin. 

“Don’t even look at me, mate.  There’s no fecking way I’m going to be in the same room with that fuckwit.”

“That ‘fuckwit’ is basically your head boss, Niall,” Harry scolds gently.

“Nah,” Niall objects, “the fuckwit’s _da_ is me head boss.”

“Stepfather,” Zayn corrects absently before he realises that he’s starting to sound just like Liam.  He doesn’t dare look up this time because he already knows the other lads will be judging him (and rightly so).

Harry huffs out a breath.  “Please, Niall?  It’ll just be temporary, I promise.”

“Just like Zayn’s temporarily staying at my gaff because he lost his fiancé and living quarters all in one go?”

“What if I give you extra pay while you’re assigned to our CTO?” Harry offers his lead assistant.  “I know some countries offer combat pay to soldiers deployed in warzones or whatever so I guess it’s only fair.”

“Money?” Zayn mutters derisively into his paperwork.  “Bloody hell, is that the answer to _everything_ around here?”  He really shouldn’t be this annoyed, not when he’s just received Liam’s final deposit into his account.  It came within two business days of the dissolution of their ‘engagement’ and that probably pissed him off more.  His former boss even attached a note with the transfer, thanking him for ‘services rendered.’ 

_Like…what the fuck?_

Harry clears his throat.  “So someone obviously woke up on the wrong side of Niall’s pull-away.  Anyway, what do you say, Niall?” he tries again.  “Pretty please for me?”

“No chance.  Not after what he did to Zayn.”

Zayn sighs and looks up from the paperwork he’s been pretending to read for the last twenty minutes.  “As much as I appreciate the loyalty, Nialler, it’s not Liam’s fault.  Don’t refuse on my account.”

Niall snorts.  “So you’re telling me it’s all _your_ fault then, Zayn?”

“No.”  Zayn’s feeling frustrated, wondering why it has to be someone’s fault, why everyone always feels the need to blame one party or the other in these situations.  “Call it irreconcilable differences, yeah?”

Harry raises a brow but doesn’t question him.  Neither does Niall.  Zayn could honest-to-goodness hug them both.

Harry’s phone rings, and he groans as soon as he checks the caller ID, answering it with a tight-lipped smile.  “Good afternoon, Payno.  Hope you’re having a good day because once again, I’m not.”

Harry frowns, brow furrowed as he listens.  Zayn doesn’t even bother to pretend his attention is anywhere but on Harry’s phone call.  “Well, I don’t know what to tell you.  I can’t think of anyone else suitable besides Niall, and I need him down here.”  Niall smiles gratefully at Harry, and the HR Director waves it off.  “And by ‘suitable,’” he tacks on, “I mean someone you won’t deem a ‘useless cow’ and who can withstand your tantrums.”

It’s quiet for a minute as Harry’s eyes widen.  He starts to protest several times, and it’s almost comical the way he sputters into the phone, trying to get a word in edgewise.

“Fine!  If that’s how you want it, I guess I have no choice.  He’ll be there after lunch—if he doesn’t quit first!”  The entire staff of the large office is gawking at their boss as he shoves the device back inside his paisley jacket.  Back to work!” Harry instructs not unkindly before turning back to the two secretaries, guilt and surrender written all over his face.

Zayn feels bad for Niall; he really does.  He knows assisting Liam under the best circumstances is difficult enough, but it must be damn near impossible with the current mood of the CTO. 

“He requested you,” Harry announces apologetically. 

Zayn’s about to say something sympathetic to Niall when he gets it.  Harry’s talking to him.  Harry’s talking to _him_ , and he’s gonna be sick. 

“No fucking way,” Zayn manages to say, anger shaking inside him.  “I am _not_ going back up there.”

“I’ll go,” Niall interjects, changing his answer from earlier, and Zayn thinks that’s why he loves the man like a brother.  “That gobshite requesting Zayn is bollocks; it’s layin’ boots, is what it is.”

Harry looks pained.  “Don’t you think I know that, Niall?  And keep your voice down, please.”

Niall huffs something under his breath, and Zayn thinks he loves him even more.

“Zayn, he asked for you,” Harry continues.  “I wouldn’t even ask you to consider it normally, but he’s made it an ultimatum of your employment—and possibly mine but don’t bother about that.”  Harry looks absolutely gutted.  “I’m sorry, but I’m not sure there’s much I can do about this in the short-term.  Even if I went through the proper channels, I’m going to have a difficult time convincing everyone that it’s not a good idea to pair you two up.”

“Why?” Zayn whinges.  “I’d think with all the personal things between Liam and me that—”

“They don’t give a rat’s ass about personal stuff,” Harry cuts in.  “All they see is that Liam was at his absolute best and technology and operations were most productive when you were assisting him.”

Zayn can’t believe what he’s hearing.  It’s like he dug his own fucking grave.  “So I really haven’t got a choice, do I?  Not if I want to keep my job.”

Harry nods apologetically.  “Yeah, that’s about the long and short of it, mate.  I’m sorry.”

Zayn tries to be stoic about the whole thing, but he can feel his façade crumbling, weighted down by the unfairness of the situation.  “I just can’t figure out why he’d even _want_ me to be his secretary after”—he swallows the lump in his throat—“after everything that’s happened.”

Niall snorts.  “Told you he was a fuckwit.”

Zayn doesn’t say it, being too busy burying his head in his hands, telling himself to get a bloody grip, but he’s sure Niall’s words are the truest he’s heard in fucking ages.

 

£.£.£.

 

To be honest, seeing Liam again isn’t as bad as Zayn had thought it was going to be. 

No, it’s worse.  It’s fucking _torture._

He tells Liam as much the first chance he gets because apparently he has no bloody filter and sod-all in the self-respect department.

The CTO massages his forehead like he’s got a migraine, and Zayn almost hopes he does.  “I’m not torturing you, Zayn.”  Liam’s gaze flicks down and to the left, and Zayn hates that he recognises the man’s nervous tick.  “And I’m perfectly aware that you’d rather not be around me; you made that more than evident when you ran out on me.”

“I didn’t run out on you,” Zayn argues because facts are facts.  “Our—and I quote from _your_ contract—‘partnership was liquidated.’  You had no further use of me.”  The words leave an ache within him.  He wants to scream, wants to rail at everything and nothing. 

But most of all, he just wants to stop the bleeding, and he _can’t_ , not when Liam won’t let him alone.

“Could we please just get to work?” Zayn begs, breaking the silence. 

Liam looks at him like a lost puppy, and it just fuels Zayn’s anger more.  “Yes…yes, of course.” 

 

£.£.£.

 

And they do get to work.  Strangely, they’re able to get loads accomplished in the next few weeks.  Yes, Zayn still feels that ache the first time he sees Liam every morning, but he learns to suppress it until lunchtime when it starts anew.

Liam, for his part, acts just as professionally as Zayn so there’s that.  There’s no mention of the fake engagement.  No mention of their likes and dislikes or personal lives.  No mention of the fact that Zayn’s moved out of Niall’s flat and is starting to pull his life together.  No mention of family unless you count the periodic complaints Liam makes after enduring a board meeting with his stepfather.

It’s all business.

Liam never shows a crack in his armour, and Zayn admires him for that.  On the other hand, it’s not like he was in love with Zayn so it must make it easier for him to carry on as normal.  The only thing the CTO has to regret is the fact that he hasn’t secured the Titan job yet, that he has to wait until Jones retires in autumn before he can even express interest in it.

And Zayn thinks Liam’s got a fair shot at it, too—despite the fact that he’s no longer engaged to be married.  He’s sure Walters understands.  Shit happens.  He learns that even Louis Tomlinson had a broken engagement, and he’s now Walter’s right-hand man.

Besides, Liam hasn’t started up his playboy lifestyle again, and Zayn suspects that’s what Walters really would’ve had an issue with.  From what Zayn can tell, Liam hasn’t been out with anyone, let alone the heiresses and up-and-coming models he used to cavort with, the ones showing up at the office every other Friday like clockwork. 

Then again, Zayn doesn’t know everything Liam does on his days off.  At least Liam doesn’t make it obvious though.  At least he closes the door to his private office whenever ‘Karen’ calls.  (And yes, Liam’s taking her calls now.)  At least his boss’s love life isn’t splashed all over the society pages or blathered about in the employee break room.

For his part, Zayn knows there are moments when _he_ slips up.  He knows there are times when he lets his gaze linger a little too long at a meeting when Liam isn’t even speaking, when Niall or Harry shoot him a pitiful look and he has to swallow down the emotions bubbling up inside him. 

It’s okay though.  Mostly.

It’s not horrible.

But then one night when they’re working late in Liam’s office, when they’re alone except for the glittering lights puncturing the night sky, Liam says something that nearly ruins all the progress Zayn’s made in one fell swoop.

“You know you were the best I ever had, right?”

Zayn looks at his boss for a long moment before closing his eyes and taking in a shuddering breath.  He can’t focus on the way Liam’s voice faltered at the end.  He can’t read more into the question than what was really there.  This isn’t some English Lit lecture. 

“You got the tense wrong,” Zayn corrects him sharply.  “I’m still your secretary so, technically, I _am_ the best you’ve ever had.” 

Liam hardens quicker than royal icing.  “Yeah, that’s what I meant to say.  You’re the best secretary I’ve ever had.”  Zayn thanks him politely and they get back to work. 

And it’s okay.  Mostly.

It’s only a little horrible.

 

£.£.£.

 

On 4 May, the fake wedding date for the fake engagement of his fake life, Zayn calls in.

He sleeps in as well.  At some point, his phone starts blowing up and he reluctantly reaches for it.  There are messages from Niall, his mum, and Doniya.  Unfortunately, they’ve all sussed out what the date is and are checking up on him. 

When his phone starts ringing in his hand and he sees it’s a Payne Innovations number, he almost ignores it.  Then, he remembers that he hasn’t even been there a year, and he can’t exactly afford to piss away all the hard work he’s already put in (even if it is Liam harassing him at home when he’s called in sick).  He answers the call on the fourth ring.

“Happy Friday, Zayn,” Harry greets him and Zayn’s beyond relieved.  He’s really not in the mood to talk with Liam today, even if it’s just to answer a mundane question like where he keeps this or that file.

“Morning, Harry,” Zayn manages, voice a little scratchy.  “Did you need something?”

“Good afternoon,” Harry corrects him, and Zayn squints at the clock.  “And I was going to berate you for skiving off today, but you sound like crap so never mind.”

Zayn lays back down.  On second thought, maybe he shouldn’t have answered the phone.  “Are you calling in a personal or professional capacity, Harry?”

“Both, but mostly Niall wants me to make sure you haven’t jumped off a bridge or anything.”

Zayn covers a yawn.  “I haven’t.”

“Good,” Harry replies, a little hesitation in his voice, and Zayn knows something big is coming.  “Well, I also wanted to ask if you’ve seen Liam today.  I’ve been trying to ring him for hours.”

If Harry was in the room with him, Zayn would probably give him a death stare.  Luckily for the HR Director, he’s not.  “Why the bloody hell would you think I was with Liam when I’ve called in sick, Harry?”

“Because he’s not at the office, and neither of you have missed a day of work in the past year, and I think it’s quite the coincidence that you’re both out today of all days.”

Zayn sits up then.  He needs to think, to clear his muddled brain.  “Wait—are you saying Liam isn’t there either?”

“Yep.  He’s not answering his phone—which as I’m sure you know—is very unlike him, and I really need to go over some numbers with him.”

“Which numbers?  Maybe I can help?”

“Nah, they’re not department numbers,” Harry informs him.  “It’s just some inconsistencies I’ve found as I was looking at the employment and operations data.  Financial performance is going up but nonfinancial measures are going down and—never mind actually.  Forget I said anything."

“Will do.”  In fact, Zayn’s already forgotten it.

“Ooh, that’s Liam on the other line,” Harry tells him breathlessly.  “And by the way, please text Niall so he’ll stop pestering me and get back to work.” 

The line clicks and Zayn plops back down on his pillow.  He sends a quick text to Niall before pulling the duvet up to his ears.  He’s done thinking for today.

 

£.£.£.

 

When Zayn shows up at work on Tuesday after the Bank Holiday, Liam isn’t there.

Zayn wonders if he’s called in sick again, but as soon as he’s settled and about to e-mail Harry, Liam strides in a half hour late like nothing’s happened.

And Zayn doesn’t really have the right to question the CTO’s whereabouts except he sort of does.  He needs to know why Liam wasn’t there on Friday, why he’s late today.  “Where were you?”

Liam glances at him like an afterthought.  “Just gave my two weeks.”  Then he walks into his private office and shuts the door without another word.

 

£.£.£.

 

The two weeks feels more like two days.  Neither of them mention the fact that Liam’s leaving except when making arrangements for how to divvy up Liam’s workload.  Thankfully, there are barely any open projects going on at the moment, but there’s still the day-to-day challenges of running the technology side of a major corporation.

Zayn does discover that Liam offered to stay on a month to six weeks, but Dan Payne told him he’d rather Liam leave sooner than later.

On Liam’s final day, Zayn returns from lunch to find Harry and Liam having a row in the CTO’s office.  Harry storms out and glares at Zayn, eyes accusing.

“You knew about this, didn’t you?” he seethes, eyes glowing an almost electric green.

“Harry, I….”  Zayn looks down guiltily.  He doesn’t even know what Harry’s accusing him of, what knowledge he’s just prised from Liam. 

“Never mind.”  Harry takes a deep breath, presses his fingertips to his temples.  “It’s just that Liam and I…we’ve been best mates since uni, and I know what he’s capable of.  I know he’s ambitious so it wasn’t out of the question, but…but I was expecting better from you.” 

Zayn can’t help but recall how Harry called him a “straight-shooter” the day of his interview.  And maybe he was back then but so much has changed since.  Zayn agreed to the fake engagement and everything spun out of control after that.  But it’s not like he can tell Harry that.  Shit, he doesn’t even know how much Harry knows.

“I need to see you in my office first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Is this meeting, uh, personal or professional?” Zayn asks hesitantly.

Harry glares at him.  “I don’t know—you tell me, Zayn.  You lot are the ones who seem to have gotten the lines crossed.”

Harry’s disappointment hits Zayn hard.  It sears on his conscience even after Harry leaves.

A few hours later, Liam emerges from his private office.  “Goodbye, Zayn,” he says with a cordial formality that cuts Zayn in half.  “Thanks for all your help and good luck to you.” 

Liam offers a courteous smile as he shakes his secretary’s hand.  Then, as if in slow motion, the CTO walks out of the office he’s called home for so many years and starts towards the lifts.

Zayn watches every step.  Tears sting his eyes, but he doesn’t look away.  He can’t.

Scott Fitzgerald once wrote, "The loneliest moment in someone’s life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly." The words meant little to Zayn when he first read them, but now he feels like he’s living them, like he’ll be haunted by this image for the rest of his life.

And if he sobs into his pillow that night, heartbroken and pathetic as he finally releases all the pent-up emotions, no one has to know.

 

£.£.£.

 

“Have you seen this?” Harry demands as soon as Zayn walks into the HR Director’s office the following day.  He pulls out a newspaper stuck between two plants and slaps it on the desk in front of Zayn.  “Well?  Did you or didn’t know about this?”

Zayn’s eyes skim the page.  There’s a picture of Liam and an announcement that he’ll be joining Titan Technologies in June.  Zayn scans the article and discovers that he’ll be working alongside Jones, the current CTO, for an unspecified time period before taking on full duties.  There are some details about falling stock prices for Payne Innovations in response to the news, and he’s sure none of the Payne execs are happy about that.

It’s a good likeness of Liam, the photo staring at him from the Business page.  Zayn briefly considers asking Harry if he can keep the article, but then he figures the last thing he needs are concrete reminders of the man.

“He was interviewing for the position that day he was out,” Harry informs him, eyes expectant.

“I didn’t know that,” he says honestly.  “I knew he was vying for the Titan job though.  Just didn’t think it was going to come available until later in the year.”

Harry nods, purses his lips.  “I wonder what made him try to make the move sooner.”

Zayn’s quiet.  He knows he’s probably to blame.  He’d been distant and cold with his boss since the dissolution of the engagement, but really, Zayn didn’t have the right to blame anyone but himself.  Zayn was the one who hadn’t played by the rules.  He wasn’t supposed to fall in love but he did.

Liam was only abiding by the contract, by what they had agreed to.  It was Zayn’s fault for catching feelings and letting it affect their working relationship.

“Don’t blame yourself,” Harry asserts, evidently reading the guilt in Zayn’s face.  “It was almost inhuman of him to ask you to be his administrative assistant again mere days after you two called off the wedding.”

“No, it wasn’t.”  The words leave Zayn’s lips before he can stop them.

“Zayn, don’t make me bring Niall in here and have him set you straight on that point.  Liam’s my mate, but that was heartless of him to demand you return to your job after you guys broke your engagement.  I’m not going to sugar-coat it.”

“No, it _wasn’t_ ,” Zayn insists.  He feels overwhelmed; he couldn’t hold the river back now, not even if he wanted to.  “It wasn’t heartless”—Zayn takes a quivering breath— “because we were never really engaged in the first place.”

Harry blinks at him for what seems like several minutes.  “I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to explain that, mate.”

And so Zayn tells him.  _Everything_.  It’s just that he’s so tired of lying, of keeping everything inside.  Besides, he knows that Harry’s trustworthy, that despite everything he’s still loyal to Liam.  And telling Harry the truth can’t possibly hurt Liam now.  Liam has his dream job.  He has everything he ever wanted.

The only major detail Zayn holds back is how he’s hopelessly in love with Liam, has been since Bradford.  (And speaking of Bradford, Zayn also leaves out the part about Liam and him having sex at their hotel.  Harry certainly doesn’t need to know that.)

“I can’t believe it,” Harry mutters, and Zayn can see he’s still processing.  It’s a lot.

Zayn clears his throat.  “After hearing everything, I’d understand if you, like, want to fire me.”

“No,” Harry answers directly, and Zayn exhales shakily.  Then his voice softens.  “You love him, don’t you?”  There’s a quiet sympathy in his eyes.

Zayn swallows.  “Yes.”

Harry nods.  “Of course I’m not going to fire you, Zayn.  Liam should never have put you in that position in the first place.” 

“You won’t tell him, will you?” Zayn squeaks out. 

“If you’re referring to the fact that I know about the fake engagement and all that rot, Liam and I aren’t even speaking with each other so that’s _highly_ unlikely.  If, however, you mean the fact that you’re in love with a complete idiot who clearly doesn’t deserve you”—he pauses, looks Zayn straight in the eye—“then I will take that secret straight to my grave.”

Harry says it with conviction, and Zayn believes him.  “Thank you.”

“Thank you for telling me the truth…finally.”  Harry shifts in his chair, and Zayn can already tell there’s something weighing on him.  “And now that all our cards are on the table, I’ve something to ask of you—wait a second,” he commands, holding his palm up to stop Zayn from answering prematurely.  “You might want to think about it first because it’s huge and once you hear me out, you can’t un-hear this.”

Zayn hitches a brow.  “Well, as long as you’re not asking me to be your fake fiancé, I’m in.”

Harry snorts, laughs despite himself.  “No, but it is extremely confidential, and I need someone I can trust.  I was hoping to bring Liam in on this, but…well, you know how that went.”

Zayn knows _exactly_ how that went.  “What is it, Harry?”

“It’s about Dan Payne.”

When Harry said this was huge, it wasn’t false advertising.  “Yes?”

“I think he’s involved in some scheme, siphoning money into offshore accounts in Cyprus and other places.  I’ve already contacted the Serious Fraud Office.”

Zayn sucks in a breath.  “What do you need me to do?”

 

 


	7. (in which secrets are revealed)

 

Zayn loves his mum, but he really wishes she wouldn’t keep bringing up the L-word every time they speak.  Case in point:  he’s not even three minutes into a phone conversation with her when she asks him if he’s seen Liam.  Zayn’s living in a city of nine million people, and she asks if he’s happened to bump into one of them.

“No, mum,” he sighs.  “I told you; he’s working for another company.  I haven’t seen him since May.”

“Well, maybe you should ring him,” she perseveres and now Zayn knows where he gets his stubborn streak from.  “I bet he’s missing you by now.”

Zayn bites back a sarcastic comment because if there’s one thing he knows for certain it’s that Liam Payne isn’t missing him.  Not one iota.

“How long has it been since you two ended your engagement?  Three months?”

“Almost four and can we please not rehash all that again?”  Zayn rubs his forehead.  He can already feel a headache coming on, triggered by the mere mention of his kind-of-but-not-really ex.  “Look, we broke up and there’s bugger-all chance of us getting back together. Happy?”

“Don’t be stroppy with me, Zayn Javadd Malik.  Besides, you never told me _how_ you two broke up so how would I know that?”

Zayn inhales through his nose and lets it out slowly.  “We got in a fight.  At a party.”

“A fight over what?” Trisha presses.

“I don’t remember.”  Zayn swallows down the lump in his throat. 

“Did he cheat on you?”

“No.”

“Mistreat you in some way?”

“No.”

“Then I don’t get it.  What on earth could you two have fought about that would be serious enough to end an engagement?” she demands, voice rising.

Zayn sighs.  “It doesn’t matter, mum.”

“Yes, it _does_ matter.  I can hear the pain in your voice, and I’m not going to pretend I don’t.  All I’m saying is you should ring him.  Don’t give up on what might have been the love of your life without a fight.”

Zayn feels sorry for her; he really does.  It’s not that she’s entirely wrong—on the contrary, Zayn did just lose the love of his life—it’s just that she’s misguided if she thinks that Liam ever cared for him beyond ‘services rendered.’

“Mum, can we talk about summat else?” he begs, and finally, his mum relents.

“So I told you about how a solicitor offered to advocate for your dad, right?” she asks and yes, Zayn vaguely remembers her mentioning that a while back.  “Well, she helped him get his job back—not technically his same job but more of a supervisory position that will require less strain on his knee.  He was even awarded some damages and received a formal apology from the company.”

Zayn can hardly believe what he’s hearing.  “Oh wow—that’s brilliant!” 

“Yes, isn’t it, sunshine?” she agrees happily.  “Well, now we’ll be able to pay back some of the money you lent us once the settlement comes in.”

“Don’t worry about it, mum.  It was a gift.”

“It was too much money to be a gift, Zayn,” his mum says severely.  “We’re not going to accept all of it.”

“Yeah, well I’m guessing you had a conditional fee agreement, right?” Zayn reminds her.  “Don’t you have to, like, pay your solicitor out of any settlement you receive?”

“No, that’s the odd thing.  We talked about a fee and Meryl, bless her heart, said there was no charge, that it was already taken care of.  Isn’t that incredible?”

Zayn agrees that it’s incredible—too incredible to believe.  He keeps it to himself though, just says he has to go and sends his love to his dad and sisters.  Then, he heats up his leftovers in the microwave. 

He eats in silence at his small kitchen table.  He texts Niall that no, he doesn’t want to go on another blind date on Friday—not after the dude with the vampire fang grillz, the bird who kept sneezing every fifteen seconds, and the bloke who nearly nicked his wallet.  Zayn only consented to the dates in the first place so Niall would stop worrying about him.  He doesn’t need anyone.  He’s not “still pining over Liam Payne,” as Niall puts it. 

And even if he is, he’ll get over it.  He’s _fine._

Zayn curls up in bed with a book he’s been wanting to read for ages.  Ten minutes in, he realises he’s been reading the same page over and over.

And if he hurls the book across the room so that it hits the wall with a resounding thud, no one except his neighbour in the next flat has to know.

 

£.£.£.

 

Zayn tries to stop his leg from jiggling as he sits at the long glass table in the boardroom, sandwiched between Harry and Delaney, the acting CTO.  He glances at Harry, and the man’s calm as a fucking cucumber.  Then again, _he’s_ not the one with a bloody USB drive burning a hole in his pocket.

And really, Zayn wishes they would have thought through this part of the plan better.  He could’ve hid the drive anywhere—secreted it in a hidden compartment in the heel of his shoe, perhaps—but no.  They told Zayn to just drop it in his pocket.

_Honestly._

Zayn takes a deep breath as he scans the packed boardroom.  Dan Payne’s blathering on about fiscal goals and how the technology department’s gone to shit, but Zayn’s only listening with one ear.  He’s too busy trying not to stare at the managing director’s laptop mere inches away from him, the one the Serious Fraud Office wants to do a live analysis on. 

The one Zayn’s supposed to insert the USB drive into without getting caught. 

And right now, Zayn’s _really_ wishing he would’ve taken that checkout assistant job at Sainsbury’s.  If he had, he wouldn’t be embarking on a direct flight into the world of corporate espionage. 

The thing is, they said it was the only way (‘they’ being the investigators at the SFO).  They were close to being able to deliver a case against Dan Payne, but they needed proof.

That was where Zayn came in.  Zayn and the USB stick in his pocket.

All of a sudden, several phones go off.  Someone pounds on the door to the boardroom, and that’s their cue.  It opens, and Niall shouts something about smoke and a possible fire in HR.  The boardroom is in chaos. 

Zayn gets up to leave when everyone else rushes to the door.  Harry gives him cover as he slips behind a column, then into an alcove out of everyone’s sight.  When Dan Payne starts arguing from the corridor that he needs his laptop, Zayn almost pisses himself.  Luckily, Harry’s able to convince him there’s no time as the HR Director locks the door and gives the keys to Dan Payne to “ensure all belongings are safe.”

And now, Zayn’s effectively trapped inside.

Zayn puts it out of his mind as he flips open the targeted laptop and fumbles for the device in his pocket.  He’s able to insert it into a drive after a few tries with his shaky fingers, then follows the instructions given to him by the digital forensics specialist they met with last week.  The technology component isn’t impossibly difficult, but still, there’s no way he could’ve handled the task if it weren’t for all those months working as Liam’s administrative assistant.

The COFEE (Computer Online Forensic Evidence Extractor) gets to work.  They told him it would probably take approximately twenty minutes for it to complete the forensic analysis, and Zayn’s sure it’s going to be the longest twenty minutes of his life.

It is.

He’s sure he’s had at least five minor heart attacks prompted by noises down the hall, irrelevant text notifications, and the sound of the lift stopping between floors.  When the air conditioner turns on without warning, his heart stops for a full minute as he ducks underneath the table for cover.  The _glass_ table.

And really, Zayn isn’t cut out for this spy shit.

At last, he’s able to remove the USB drive and shut down the computer.  He’s barely tucked himself away into that alcove behind the column when he hears people outside in the corridor again.  Someone—Dan Payne most likely—unlocks the door, and people start to flow in.  Zayn manages to conceal himself in the background, inconspicuously joining the incoming traffic when it’s safe to do so.

No one notices he wasn’t with them, not even Delaney.  They were all too busy examining the smoke bomb behind the locked storage closet down on the seventeenth floor.  Dan Payne is livid, going off about employee pranks as he promises to “get to the bottom of these shenanigans.”

Perhaps the investigators were right when they assigned Zayn the task of handling the COFEE.  Dan Payne would _never_ suspect a secretary, Harry had claimed. 

And Zayn thinks it just might turn out to be the man’s tragic flaw.

 

£.£.£.

 

“Anything yet?” Zayn discretely inquires when he pops his head into Harry’s office on his break.  He doesn’t need to divulge more than that because Harry knows exactly what he’s referring to. 

“No, but I heard it was going to be soon.”

Zayn nods, wonders what ‘soon’ means in government speak, and shuts the door behind him.

Harry looks up.  “Was there something else?”

Zayn feels sheepish all of a sudden.  “Yeah, I’ve a personal question if you’ve got time.”

Harry smiles warmly.  “Of course.”

Zayn takes a seat.  “You, uh, studied law, yeah?”

Harry chuckles.  “Yes, but there’s a reason I’m working here and not at the Old Bailey.  Also, there’s the whole I don’t want to go to jail for giving legal advice.”

“But you could answer basic questions on how solicitors work, yeah?”

“Depends.”

Zayn figures he might as well just spit it out.  Otherwise, it’s going to continue to bother him.  “Well, I was wondering if it was normal for a solicitor to volunteer to advocate for someone…free of charge, like.”

Harry rubs his chin.  “Well there is such a thing as _pro bono_ , of course, but what exactly do you mean by ‘volunteer?’”

Zayn shrugs.  “Don’t know how else to put it.  She just sort of showed up on my parents’ doorstep.”

Harry raises a brow.  “Then, I would say that definitely isn’t the norm.  Care to offer specifics?”

“Well, not to delve too deep into it, but my dad had this accident at work.  So this woman—Meryl I think her name was—just shows up out of nowhere and—”

“McGarry?” Harry proffers, and at first Zayn has no idea what he’s on about.   “Was the solicitor’s name Meryl McGarry?”

Zayn thinks for a moment.  “Might be.  It sounds familiar anyway.”  That’s when Harry drops a fucking bombshell:

“Yeah, it should sound bloody familiar.  Meryl McGarry is Liam’s solicitor.” 

Zayn’s dumbstruck.  “So you think Liam….”  He lets his sentence trail off. 

“For what it’s worth, I happen to know she’s very adept at worker’s compensation cases.”

Zayn sighs, half frustrated and half overwhelmed.  He’s glad Liam might have intervened because it did help his family, but on the other hand, it’s doing his head in.  Liam doesn’t owe Zayn or his family anything, and yet, he still apparently did what he did.

And Zayn wishes he knew why.

 

£.£.£

 

Liam is officially named Titan’s CTO after Jones retires.  Zayn almost sends him a card or note of congratulations.

But then he doesn’t.

Liam doesn’t want to hear from Zayn, doesn’t want to be reminded of the sacrifices he had to endure in order to get to the top of his profession.  Sacrifices like having to pretend he was engaged to Zayn.  Sacrifices like not being free to date other people he was actually attracted to. 

At least it paid off for the CTO in the end.

 

£.£.£

 

“I rang Liam last night,” Harry announces the next time they meet in his office.  “We had a long talk, and I told him what was about to go down because it affects his family.  He took it surprisingly well—even for Liam.  Said he’d always suspected as much.” 

Zayn makes a non-committal noise and stares out Harry’s windows at the bright morning sun.  It’s a warm, summery day even though it’s technically autumn.  It seems so incongruous that a man’s career and reputation will be blotted out in just a few short hours.

Harry sighs as if he’s just thought of something.  “I should probably ring Karen just in case Liam didn’t.  You know—give her a heads-up not to answer the door today or speak with any reporters.”

“Karen?”  Zayn asks, feigning disinterest.

“Yeah, Liam’s mum,” Harry replies, scrutinising Zayn like he’s suddenly grown a third eye. 

“Oh.”  And really, Zayn’s been stupid.  About everything. 

Not that it matters.  Just because Liam might have done something nice for Zayn’s family, just because Liam might not be dating anyone—none of that changes anything. 

Harry clears his throat.  “He’s fine, by the way.”

“Didn’t ask.”  Zayn gets up to leave.  He has a lot of work to do before the shit hits the fan, and it doesn’t help that Delaney, the acting CTO, doesn’t know his arse from his elbow.  “What time is it going down?”

“Some time after ten.  That’s all I know.”

“Well, it was nice working with you,” Zayn says wryly.

Harry offers a weak smile in return.  “We’ll see what happens.”

 

£.£.£.

 

Dan Payne is arrested on multiple charges of corruption and money laundering at precisely 10:03 that morning.  Zayn watches from a frantic Delaney’s window as the managing director of Payne Innovations is led away in handcuffs.

And then he goes back to his desk and calmly starts on the stack of work in his inbox.   

 

£.£.£.

 

Zayn’s not sure why he’s here, about to knock on the door of the last place he’d ever dreamed of returning to, except he _has_ to know.  And just like that Faust bloke, Zayn’s insatiable quest for knowledge might well turn out to be his own tragic flaw.

It was ridiculously easy getting up here.  Everyone remembers him even though it’s been six months since Zayn’s called this place home.  It _should_ be easy to press the buzzer, to knock on the door…

But it isn’t. 

_To knock, or not to knock—that is the question._

The longer he stands there waffling, the more he convinces himself that it was a mistake to come in person when a phone call would have sufficed.  His mind pivots back to _Hamlet_ , and now he’s wondering if his tragic flaw is actually indecision.    

(Or maybe Zayn’s got boatloads of tragic flaws; it would explain a lot, if he’s honest.)

The door swings open, and ready or not, Zayn’s face-to-face with his former fiancé. 

Liam is understandably shocked at first, but he’s soon able to school his face into a more composed expression.  “Come in,” he states impassively, leaving the door ajar as he re-enters his flat.

Zayn treads softly inside.  He tries not to let his gaze wander as he shuts the door behind him.  When he turns around, Liam is staring at him.  Liam, who hasn’t changed one bit.  Liam, who’s just as perfect as Zayn remembers him.

And fuck, Zayn shouldn’t have come. 

He searches for an excuse, any excuse.  “If you were, uh, headed out just now, I can, like, come back.”

“No, it’s fine,” Liam returns, not offering any details.  He’s still dressed in his business attire—a simple camel and white ensemble that suits him. 

“Oh.  Okay.”

Liam coughs.  “If this is about how you helped Harry nail my uncle, there’s really no need to apologise.  It’s not like I’ve forgotten what a douchebag he was to me, to my dad—to the entire company.”  Liam laughs bitterly.  “I’ve only recently discovered how controlling and abusive he was to my mum, so I’m not crying about the fact that he’s locked up.”

“Karen?”

“Yeah.”  Liam nods, a mixture of shame and fury darkening his eyes.  “Turns out my stepfather was feeding her lies, poisoning us against each other.  He’s a real piece of work.”  Liam catches himself.  There’s a look of fear about him, as if he’s revealed too much.  He takes a step back and sizes Zayn up.  “So if you haven’t come to apologise for my uncle, why are you here?”

Zayn licks his lips and shifts nervously.  He knows it’s now or never.  “Did you pay the retainer—for the solicitor, I mean?”

“I’ve no clue what you’re going on about, Zayn.” 

Zayn doesn’t believe him.  He could’ve sworn he saw a flicker of something in those telling brown eyes.  “You hired a solicitor to help my dad,” he states, stripping away the doubt this time.  “Her name’s Meryl McGarry, and Harry told me she’s your solicitor.”

Liam rolls his eyes.  “Solicitors have multiple clients.  “Oh, and you know the way out.  It was nice seeing you.”  He pivots around on one foot and starts towards the living room.

Zayn’s quick to follow.  “So then I got to thinking and checked the contract you had drafted—”

Liam whirls around, eyes blazing.  “I told you to destroy that!”

“—And turns out her signature’s right at the bottom.”

Liam’s like a caged animal at first, wild and cornered.  After a minute, he sinks into the nearest chair with a resigned sigh and stares blankly at the wall.  “Doniya told me some of it,” he confesses, “on Christmas Eve, the day we went out shopping.  I also overheard some of your conversation with your dad that one night when Safaa was giving me a tour of the house.”

Zayn feels queasy, wishing he remembered exactly what he’d said that night.  “What did you hear?”

“Enough.  It wasn’t hard to deduce that you’d been using a some of the money I was paying you to help your family out.”  Liam looks up dully.  He seems exhausted, and Zayn’s not sure why he didn’t notice earlier.  “I called Doniya after we, er, dissolved our partnership.  She filled me in on the details, updated me on his condition, on everything.  I thought it inexcusable he wasn’t paid his rightful due, but I also knew you didn’t want me interfering in your life anymore so….”

“You asked Meryl McGarry to?” Zayn supplies for him.

“Yeah, that’s about it.”

Zayn’s speechless.  He can’t believe Liam went through all that trouble, that he wangled it in such a way where his family didn’t suspect a thing. 

And _bloody hell_ , he can’t believe Doniya was able to keep a secret that long.

“Well, thank you,” Zayn says, voice catching as Liam tilts his head upward to meet his gaze.  “Not just for the money, Liam, but for helping my father get his life back—mostly for that.”

“I did it for you, Zayn; I’d do anything for you,” he whispers like a sacred vow.  “In a heartbeat.”

Zayn closes his eyes, tries to quell the emotions before they take hold of him completely, before he’s drowning in a fictional past.  “Don’t say that, Liam.  Don’t say things like that unless you mean them.”

“Why?”

“You know why,” Zayn chokes out and maybe that’s unfair because there’s no way Liam could know.  Zayn’s feeling vulnerable and heartbroken and small.  So wretchedly small.

“Look at me, babe,” Liam urges, voice closer now. 

Zayn flicks open wet lashes to see the other boy standing right in front of him.  They’ve been here before, on the precipice, but not for months. 

Maybe not ever.  Not like this.

There’s a fire in Liam’s eyes as he closes the distance between them.  His lips are like fire, too, red-hot and scorching as they burn kisses to Zayn’s jaw.  Liam’s pulling at Zayn’s necktie, loosening it and tossing it on the sofa.  He discards his own even faster. 

“That’s not why I came here, Liam,” Zayn struggles to say.  It has to be said.  “I didn’t come here to go to bed with you.”

“Then why are you still here?” Liam smirks, unbuttoning Zayn’s shirt slowly, methodically.  Zayn knows he could melt under those fingertips, from the heat he feels every time they so much as brush against his skin.

It would be so easy to give in to the urges inside of him right now.  He remembers how good it was the last time (the only time), how he was nearly sobbing into the sheets afterwards.  But there’s so much more at stake now.

Because now, he’s hopelessly in love with Liam.

And maybe he was before, back in Bradford, but he didn’t know it.  At any rate, it hadn’t metamorphosed into the full-blown, soul-consuming type of thing it is now.  It wasn’t a love that would ruin him.  Not then.

“Be with me,” Liam whispers, cupping Zayn’s cheek so he won’t turn away.  And Zayn almost gives in, almost succumbs to the look in Liam’s eyes. 

“I can’t.”

It’s self-preservation that causes him to run away, to run straight out the door without looking back.  It’s self-preservation and the knowledge that he’s not completely broken yet.

 

£.£.£.

 

He dodged a bullet, and he knows it.

But a few weeks later, at an all-staff meeting, Zayn’s hit with the worst news he ever could’ve imagined:  Payne Innovations is being acquired by Titan Technologies.

And if Zayn needed further confirmation that life officially hates him, he just got it.

 

£.£.£.

 

Zayn smells him first. 

Or rather, Zayn smells the cologne he gave Liam for Christmas, the one with the bergamot and cedar notes.  Even before he looks up, Zayn knows it’s Liam standing in front of his desk and not some random bloke with the same cologne.  Maybe it’s because Liam wears the cologne; the cologne doesn’t wear him.

Or maybe Zayn just needs to have his head examined.

“Good morning,” Liam says stiffly.  “Is Delaney in?”

Zayn doesn’t answer because he’s far too preoccupied clenching his jaw while staring in disbelief at Liam’s choice of necktie that morning.  It’s the Gucci green one Zayn left at Liam’s flat the day Dan Payne was arrested. 

Zayn can’t decide what gets on his tits more:  the fact that it’s his (even though Liam technically purchased it), or the fact that it’s green and Liam had a proper strop about how one should never wear green if they work with money.  Zayn countered that they don’t work with actual currency, and even if they did, it wouldn’t be all green because they aren’t in bloody America.  Besides—he had argued—he _likes_ green, and it suits him.

(And just for the record, green apparently suits Liam as well.)

Zayn thinks the whole thing’s naff—Liam showing up wearing _that_ cologne and _that_ tie.  He’s also dressed in the black Tom Ford suit that fits him like a glove.  (Although to be honest, the jacket seems a little tight around the bicep area now, and it makes Zayn wonder exactly how much time Liam’s spent in the gym lately.

Not that Zayn cares, of course.  He just notices things.)

“Delaney,” Liam repeats, irritation creeping into his tone.  “Is he in?”

“Yes.”

“Well, he’s not supposed to be,” Liam grumbles.  “He was _supposed_ to be moved out of the office by ten today.  Doesn’t he read his e-mails?”

“Let’s just put it this way…if it doesn’t come through me, it doesn’t happen.”  Zayn buzzes Delaney to let him know Liam Payne has arrived, and Delaney comes flying out of his office.

“Is that today?” the acting CTO asks and Liam simply nods.  “Oh thank God,” he adds, and Zayn has to cover a smile.  He knows the man is in way over his head, and really, Zayn can only do so much. 

“I’ll be out by noon,” Delaney assures Liam.  “You can start moving your things back in before that though.  I promise to stay out of your way.”

That’s when it clicks.  Liam’s moving back into his old office.  At _noon._ While Zayn helps Delaney roll his belongings out on teacarts, he wonders who forgot to send him the fucking memo. 

Delaney’s hardly out the door before Liam’s buzzing Zayn at his desk:

“Zayn, I need you in my office.”

Zayn presses the interoffice intercom.  “You need me or your actual secretary, the one you’ve been working with at Titan for the past several months?”

“Don’t be a twat; I asked for you.”

“Well, at least I can see you haven’t given up the name-calling.”

“Don’t make me come out there.”

“I don’t work for you, Liam.”

“You do actually,” Liam returns gruffly.  “I’m CTO of both corporations right now, lucky me, and you’re still the secretary to the CTO of Payne Innovations—if I’m not mistaken.”

Zayn stabs the button, his temper getting the best of him now.  “Where’s your Titan secretary?”

“Martha?  She’s tying up a few loose ends at Titan Tower.  She’ll join us tomorrow.”

“Well, you don’t need me then.”

“Zayn, I swear if you don’t get in here in ten seconds, I’ll….”

Zayn slams his whole hand on the button this time.  “You’ll do what exactly?” Zayn demands.  He’s borderline hysterical, but he couldn’t be arsed about that at the present.  “Fire me?  I’m done with your threats and your bullshit, Liam.  It’s not going to work anymore—especially since Walters is at the helm now.”

It’s a while before Liam responds.  Thirty-seven seconds according to Zayn’s watch, the one Liam bought him for Christmas, the one he should’ve stopped wearing. 

“Zayn, all I’m asking is that you do the job you were hired to do,” Liam says, trying to reason with him now.  (Spoiler alert:  it isn’t bloody working.)  “I don’t expect that’s too much to ask.”

“Hang the job, Liam!” Zayn yells into the speaker.  “Hang everything!”

Someone clears their throat, and really, Zayn needs to be more with-it today.  It’s like someone’s surprising him at his desk every fifteen minutes.

It’s Harry, and Zayn’s not sure if that’s good or bad.  And to add insult to injury, the interoffice button keeps buzzing incessantly because, as Niall proclaimed, Liam Payne is a massive fuckwit.

(Technically, the adjective is Zayn’s personal contribution, but he thinks Niall would approve so.)

“I came up to check on you two,” Harry declares over the angry buzzing.  “Just found out that Liam’s moving back here until the new renovations in Titan Tower are complete.”

“How long will that take?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.  You know how these construction projects are.”

Zayn collapses onto his desk.  His head hits the surface of the wood so hard he’s sure he’s going to have a bruise there tomorrow.  “I can’t do this again, Harry,” he muffles out.  “I just can’t.”

“Yeah, could kind of tell from the preview,” Harry quips, and Zayn peeks up at him hopefully.  “Don’t worry; I already ran your profile through the system before I came upstairs.”

“And?” Zayn asks breathlessly, bolting upright at the news.

“With all this shuffling around, there are a few openings in the marketing and public relations division over in the Titan building.  I think it would be a great fit, but ultimately, the decision’s not up to me,” Harry cautions him.  “I can refer you to them, but they have the final say.”

“That's fine.  Who will I be interviewing with?”

“Louis Tomlinson,” Harry replies, checking his tablet.  “I’ll let him know you’ll be there first thing in the morning.”

Zayn groans inwardly.  He really hates his life sometimes.

 

£.£.£.

 

“An English degree with one year of experience working in the position of administrative assistant to the CTO?” Louis questions, blue eyes as piercing as he remembers them.  Zayn’s about to thank the man for his time and make an early exit because _honestly_. 

He wonders if the Sainsbury’s closest to him still needs checkout assistants.  If not, he could always try Tesco or even Asda.  Really, in a city of nine million, the possibilities are endless.

“Fucking brilliant, mate.”

Zayn does a double-take.  An honest-to-goodness, Hollywood-calibre double-take.  “I’m sorry—could you repeat that?”

Louis grins.  “Yeah, said it was fucking brilliant, mate.  You’re exactly what I’ve been looking for.”  Louis settles back in his chair and kicks his trainer-clad feet up on the desk.  “You see, I've an opening for a head writer if you want a shot at it.  I'll give you six weeks to show me what you can do.  If it doesn't work out, we'll find you a more suitable position in the department.  Fair?”

“Y-yes,” Zayn stammers back.  It's more than fair.  It's generous.  It's what Zayn’s always wanted—to be given a chance like this. 

“And don’t think I’m taking you on just because you’re from Yorkshire—although that doesn’t hurt,” Louis adds cheekily.  “Nah, I could see you did quality work from the first.  Besides, I can tell you’re a straight-shooter.”

Zayn snorts and immediately tries to cover it with a cough. 

Louis arches his brow.  “Something amusing?” he says in the most urbane way, like a posh villain in a Bond film.

“Sorry, it's just…that's exactly what Harry Styles—the HR Director at Payne—said when he hired me.”

“The one with the curly hair and green eyes who was at that first project meeting back in December?”

“He’s cut his hair since then,” Zayn relates, “but yeah, that’s Harry.”

Louis hums.  “You know him well?”

“Yes.  He's, uh, close with Liam Payne, too."

There seems to be an awkward pause after Zayn mentions Liam’s name but maybe it’s his imagination.  Maybe he’s just projecting his own discomfort. 

“Harry,” Louis repeats, almost savouring it.  “Hmm, good to know.”  Then, his new boss springs to his feet and claps his hands loudly.  “Now, I’d say it’s about time we found an office for our new head writer—don’t you think?”

 

£.£.£.

 

Six weeks and three successful campaigns later, Zayn is given the official position of head writer.  Walters comes down himself to make the announcement, congratulating Louis as well on his ‘ability to spot talent.’

“So!  Have you already made plans for dinner tonight, my boy?” Walters inquires.

It’s Friday.  Friday means Thai takeaway in the routine that has become Zayn’s life.  He’d wager they’ve already started his order:  green curry chicken (extra spicy) and a side of spring rolls with sweet chili sauce. 

He should probably give the restaurant a call, just as a courtesy.

“No, I’m free.”

“Excellent!” Walters shouts, slapping Zayn on the back.  “We’re going to celebrate then.  Louis, would you make the reservations?”

“I’d love to,” Louis smiles.

 

£.£.£.

 

Zayn was beginning to think he liked working for Louis.  He thought he enjoyed the lively pace, the Yorkshire camaraderie, and the work itself.

But now, as the two of them walk into the crowded restaurant Louis has booked for dinner, Zayn realises that Louis Tomlinson is the actual devil. 

Really, there’s no other explanation when the _maître d’_ leads them to their table, and he sees Walters and Harry sitting down, eyes wide.  The third person, clearly just arrived himself, has his back to Zayn as he takes a seat.  Regardless, Zayn would know that back anywhere.

It’s Liam, and one glance at Louis next to him, tells Zayn this was no accident.

And again, Zayn is a (mostly-to-moderate) good person.  He doesn’t deserve this shit.  He only lies on occasion to his mother (and then with good reason); only casually participates in corporate espionage (and then for a bloody good reason); and only rarely has rude thoughts about his former boss (if ‘rarely’ can be defined as 3-4 nights per week).

Okay, maybe Zayn isn’t such a saint after all, but only pure vindictiveness could have driven Louis to invite Liam to Zayn’s celebration dinner.  Clear and simple.

Even Walters must think it’s cruel because he pulls his marketing manager to the side as soon as they arrive at the table of doom.  Zayn watches as Louis whispers something in the CEO’s ear that seems to placate him.  Walters still doesn’t look happy though.

Zayn knows the feeling.

“Hey, Liam.  Alright?” Zayn greets his former boss as he takes a seat across from him.  (Louis has already nabbed the chair beside Harry, the no-good tosser.)  The CTO mumbles back a response, then pretends to be fascinated with the mural on the wall.

It’s like everyone’s walking on eggshells.  There’s a strained silence as everyone digs into the first course.  Zayn can see the split loyalty in Harry’s eyes since he’s good mates with both of them, and it’s blatant Harry knew nothing of Louis’ skulduggery.

When the second course arrives, Walters fills the silence, spilling yarns of how he got started in business and the principles his father taught him on the farm he grew up on in Ohio.  Zayn asks about how he came to be in London, and Walters smiles and relates the story of how he met his husband at Heathrow when their flights were delayed.

Walters keeps the conversation flowing through the third course, asking Zayn about his hopes and ambitions.  Zayn finds that the man’s easy to talk to, just like his husband.  Louis and Harry pepper in compliments about Zayn’s work performance while Liam just sits there glowering.

_Whatever._

But then Walters apologises, says he has to meet his husband at an opening.  He tells Louis to put the dinner on his expense account, congratulates Zayn again on his promotion, and departs.

With the buffer gone and everyone in varying states of inebriation, the dinner quickly goes pear-shaped.

“You could’ve at least pretended to give a shit about my promotion,” Zayn snaps at his former boss.  “I mean, since you’ve bothered to show up and all.”

“Just for the record, I didn’t realise this dinner had anything to do with you,” Liam huffs back.  “And as for your promotion, Zayn, I’m thrilled _._  Over the fucking moon.” 

“Sure seems like it,” Zayn replies, voice dripping with sarcasm.  “I was afraid your face was gonna set in that scowl for a minute there.  In all fairness, it probably would’ve been an improvement.”

“You know what?  You can piss right off.”

“So can you.”

“Fuck you, Zayn.”

“Fuck you to infinity and beyond.”

Louis hitches a brow, regards Zayn with something akin to admiration as he takes a sip from his wineglass and settles in for the show.  Zayn’s about to pounce on him as well, but luckily, Harry takes up that mantle.

“I’ve seen a number of dick moves in my time, Tomlinson,” Harry declares, “but this one really takes the biscuit.  Why’d you invite Liam to Zayn’s dinner when you know the history between these two?”

They’re all glaring daggers at Louis, but he doesn’t seem the least bit perturbed.  “They both work for Titan now, and I thought this would give them a chance to chat.  They obviously have a few unresolved issues, and I figured this was as good a time as any to get those sorted.”

“Zayn’s got more issues than MoneyWeek,” Liam jeers, staring straight at Zayn from across the table.  “It would take us decades to unravel them.”

And dinner honouring his promotion or not, Zayn isn’t going to sit there for one more second. 

He’s proud of himself that he makes it outside before the tears start to flow.  Angrily, he wipes them away with the palms of his hands as he searches for a taxi in the cold, drizzly weather.  Soon he gives up, just plops down on the kerb and waits.  One will come by eventually.  Or not.  Either way, he’s content to sit there until he’s soaked through.

“Zayn, I…I didn’t mean what I said back there.  I’m sorry.”

Zayn shields his eyes from the falling raindrops as he blinks up at a repentant Liam, standing solo in the glow of the streetlamp.  “Why’d you say it then?”

“Why’d you say what you said?” Liam counters, and Zayn’s thinking the argument’s not half-bad before Liam retracts it.  “I’m sorry; that wasn’t fair.  I took it to the next level.  It’s just…I was jealous, I guess.”

“Jealous?”

“Yeah, that you’ve been able to succeed without me, I guess.”  And it may not be the most egotistical thing Zayn’s ever heard, but it’s up there.  Top ten, maybe.

“Where’s Harry?”

“He’s screaming at Louis, handing him his ass on a platter for inviting me,” Liam reveals and even though Zayn’s never seen Harry completely lose his temper, he can picture it. 

Zayn stands up reluctantly.  He shivers and all of a sudden a coat, the one he left behind in the restaurant, is draping his shoulders.

“I’ll take you home.  Come on.”

Liam hails a taxi before Zayn can think of a snarky remark.  And Zayn would argue, but it’s cold, and raining, and there isn’t another one in sight.  He climbs in the back of the cab as Liam talks to the driver.

“I don't know where you live," Liam says, embarrassed, as he slides in next to him.  "You need to give him your address."

Zayn rattles off Liam’s address instead, and Liam looks at him curiously.  “It’s closer,” Zayn explains.  “We’d pass it going to my place anyway.”  Then, he leans back and closes his eyes.  He’s drenched, but it feels so cosy and warm inside the cab that he hardly notices.

He does, however, notice the hand on his thigh.

Zayn blinks his eyes open.  “What do you think you’re doing?” he hisses so the driver can’t hear.  There’s a look burning in Liam’s eyes that makes Zayn’s skin prickle. 

“It’s not what I’m doing that matters, but what I’m _going_ to do.”

Zayn swallows, knows he shouldn’t take the bait, but he can’t help himself.  “What are you going to do then?”  

Liam leans over, cups a hand to Zayn’s ear and murmurs: 

“Gonna fuck you into my mattress until you can’t walk straight.  Gonna give you exactly what you need.  Gonna have you _gagging_ for it.”

Zayn yanks at Liam’s tie until their mouths smash together in a devouring kiss that tastes of chocolate mousse and the cherries from Zayn’s cocktails.  Liam’s hands are all over his body, tugging up his shirt, on his thigh, creeping up towards his crotch.  It’s all Zayn can do not to crawl into Liam’s lap and ride him in the back seat of the cab. 

Not that Liam would mind probably.  He doesn’t seem the least bit bothered that the cabbie keeps glancing at them in the rear-view mirror.  Zayn forgets about the driver, however, when Liam takes a hold of him in his trousers, and he has to bite the other man’s shoulder hard to muffle the obscene noise that escapes his lips.

When they reach Liam’s building, it’s a race to pay the driver and dash inside the doors.  Once inside the lift, Zayn’s pushing Liam up against the handrail, locking their lips together as fingers card through wet strands of hair.  They stumble apart when the lift stops at the top floor, and Zayn gets a good look at the incredibly fit man before him.  Liam’s jacketless, hair slicked back like a greaser.  His tie is askew, and his white dress shirt is soaked through from the rain, plastered to his chest, nipples on full display. 

Liam smirks at him, and they both sprint for Liam’s flat.

The door’s hardly shut before Liam throws Zayn up against the door, pinning his hands above him with one arm while he assaults his neck.  And fuck, Zayn could let Liam have his way with him right there if it weren’t for the earlier promise he can’t get out of his head.

“Thought you said you were gonna fuck me into your mattress,” Zayn whinges.  He’s trying not to buck his hips as Liam undoes Zayn’s belt buckle with one hand while sucking on a tender spot near his collarbone.

“That what you want, babe?” Liam murmurs against his skin.

“Yeah,” Zayn replies breathlessly, averting his eyes when Liam looks at him.  “Yeah, that’s what I want.”

There’s a moment when Zayn enters Liam’s room, when he sees the minty-green and warm wood surrounding him, that he nearly comes to his senses.  He’s crossed into forbidden territory now, trespassed inside Liam’s bedroom—the mini retreat in the man’s otherwise characterless luxury flat.

The thing is, Zayn’s never been invited in here.  He’s only slept in the bed once and that was without Liam’s permission.  It was a consolation prize the night they ended their engagement.

The worst night of Zayn’s entire life.

“You slept in here that night,” Liam states, voice slightly hollow.  Zayn looks at him curiously because Liam was pissed that night, passed-out on the sofa.  He couldn’t have known.  “It smelled like you for days,” the other man reveals.

And _oh_.  “Sorry.”

“Should be,” Liam growls, tearing apart Zayn’s shirt until the remaining buttons scatter left, right, and centre.  “Drove me mad because I wanted you so bad.”

Zayn’s breath hitches.  “Yeah?”

_“Yeah.”_

It’s news to Zayn, that Liam’s attracted to him, because Liam’s never really told him that before.  He’d always thought Liam had sex with him that one time because he was a warm body sharing a hotel room.  Sure, the day Dan Payne was arrested Liam had made a move on him, but Zayn chalked that up to convenience and mixed-up emotions. 

“Well,” Zayn says coyly, “I’ve wanted you since Valentine’s Day—probably since Bradford.”  Zayn watches with interest as Liam starts undressing, and he lets his own torn shirt fall to the floor.

“I’ve wanted you since the day you brought that dinosaur of a phone on your first day working as the sectary to the Chief Technology Officer,” Liam asserts and Zayn can’t help but snort at the memory. 

“No chance,” Zayn scoffs, trying not to get distracted from his thoughts as Liam’s trousers come off.  Socks and shoes, too.  “I’m not going to buy that.”

“You’re right,” Liam admits, hooking his thumbs in the waistband of his pants and teasing them lower.  “I’ve wanted you since the day I met you, since Harry brought you into my office.”  Liam slides over to him, scratches his nails down Zayn’s back and starts mouthing at his neck again until Zayn’s lolls back.

That’s when Zayn has to step away.  Liam’s admission is fantastical, and he needs a moment.  He sinks onto the bed and tries to suss it all out.  Liam’s wanted him since day one, and it doesn’t make any sense.

“You’re thinking too much,” Liam reprimands, moving towards him, and all Zayn can see are the two v-lines pointing straight towards the bulge in his pants. 

Zayn licks his lips. 

“Want a taste?”

Zayn raises hooded eyes and nods.  Liam smirks as he takes his length in hand and feeds it into Zayn’s waiting mouth.  He groans when Zayn swirls his tongue around the now-exposed tip, savouring Liam’s heady taste for the first time. 

It’s good…so good.  Zayn hollows his cheeks, lets his eyelashes flutter as Liam watches him take his cock.  

“Beautiful,” Liam coos, threading his fingers through Zayn’s still-damp hair as he uses his other hand to guide more and more of himself into the wet heat. 

It’s too much and not enough all at once.

Zayn sits on his hands, and he hopes Liam gets the hint.  (He does.)  Zayn braces himself as Liam draws his hips back, then gently fucks into Zayn’s mouth.  At first his movements are tentative, but then he picks up the pace as Zayn urges him on with his eyes. 

Zayn breathes through his nose, goes to his zen-like place, as Liam hits the back of his throat with every other thrust.  His eyes start to water, and he closes them so Liam won’t see, so he won’t stop.

Because it’s _that_ fucking good. 

It’s exactly what he needs.

Liam comes with a stuttering of hips and a stuttering of breath.  Harsh, jagged movements rock the man’s body as he shoots his load straight down Zayn’s throat.  Zayn starts choking, spluttering as he tries to swallow it all, every last drop.

Liam opens his eyes as if he’s coming out of a trance.  He slowly pulls out, an obscene length of saliva still clinging to his semi-hard cock.  “Time to return the favour,” he rasps once he’s caught his breath.  “On the bed.”

Zayn doesn’t have to be told twice.  He scrambles to the centre of the bed and undoes his zip in a frantic rush, stripping off the rest of his clothing.  Liam takes his time however, prowling about, teasing, tormenting.  At last, he takes Zayn in his large hands and starts stroking him lightly.  He dips down every so often to fan hot breath over the slit or lick a strip up the side, tongue circling the swollen, mushroom head.

When Zayn can’t take anymore, when he’s a mess of moans and curses, Liam takes pity on him.  He swallows Zayn down, jerks him off, until he’s coming like he’s never come before…well, not since the last time.

Liam’s gazing down at him, but Zayn doesn’t see the fucked-out expression he was expecting.  He sees something akin to wonder in those chocolate brown eyes.

And bloody hell, he needs to leave.

He finds his boxers on the edge of the bed, and pulls them on quickly.  He’s about to get up but then Liam’s dragging him back down again. 

“Don’t go yet,” Liam pleads, wonder now turned to something more delicate and vulnerable.  _“Just be with me, Zayn,”_ he says quietly, _“just a little longer.”_

“Alright,” Zayn scratches out, throat raw.  It feels so easy just to curl up beside the other man.  Liam’s bed is so soft, and Zayn’s spent in more ways than one.

Liam turns the lamp off, and Zayn turns his thoughts off.

And then they both sleep. 

 

£.£.£.

 

When Zayn wakes up, he’s (practically) naked and in a man’s arms. 

 _Liam’s_ arms.

He panics, tries to think of the best way to creep out without disturbing the other man.  It’s morning, but Liam’s a heavy sleeper.  Zayn could well slip out if he’s quiet.  He attempts to lift the arm Liam’s got locked around him, planning to slide out from under it when—

“Was kinda hoping I could fuck you into my mattress before you go,” Liam murmurs against the back of his neck, and it sends shivers down Zayn’s spine.

Zayn disentangles himself and rolls over so he’s facing the man he’s just spent the night with.  He’s never seen Liam quite like this—all soft eyes and rough stubble.  They’re so close Zayn can see the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes and the light freckling of skin made more noticeable in the morning light.

Liam smiles lazily.  “Was also kinda hoping we could have coffee afterwards, maybe order some donuts,” he prattles on, yawning.  “There’s this shop that’s opened up just down the road, and they deliver.  They have those ones with the sprinkles you like.”

Zayn swallows the lump in his throat.  “Liam, what are you doing?”

“Asking if you’ll stay for breakfast,” Liam answers almost timidly.  “The, er, morning sex part was optional.”

Zayn blinks at him.  “I’ve gotta go.”

He kicks his legs out from under the sheets and rummages around for his trousers among the clothes strewn about on the floor.  He totters around on one leg, trying to get them on while also searching for the remains of his tattered, rain-stained shirt.

Suddenly, Liam catapults out of bed.  He’s completely starkers, and Zayn’s eyes go directly to the man’s morning wood as it flops about. 

He swivels around and covers his eyes. 

“Zayn-”

“Could you put on some fucking pants, please?”

Liam makes a frustrated noise but heads to his chest of drawers.  He bypasses the pants and pulls on a pair of loose gym shorts.

“What about a shirt or summat,” Zayn complains, gesturing towards the clearly-defined outline that he does _not_ want to see right now. 

“Sorry, but someone kept pressing their bum into my crotch while they slept,” Liam grumbles, and Zayn feels himself blush instantly.  Liam grabs an undershirt and pulls it over his head.  “That better?”

It isn’t really.  The white cotton material hugs his chest and biceps tightly, and Zayn’s convinced the CTO’s going to need a completely new wardrobe if he keeps up this workout routine.  It’s not ideal—what Liam’s wearing—but at least Zayn can look him in the eye now.

“Yeah.”

Liam snorts.  “Good and sorry I didn’t get the memo about how I was supposed to act like we didn’t shag last night.”

“We _didn’t_ shag,” Zayn quickly corrects him because he may have been a little tipsy, but he definitely would’ve remembered that.  (And felt it, too, if last time was anything to go by.)

Liam throws up his hands.  “Hook up, get off, whatever you want to call it then.” 

“A mistake,” Zayn spits back.  “It was a mistake.”

Liam closes his eyes and stands stock still.  “It wasn’t a mistake, Zayn.  Don’t say that.”

Zayn backs away cautiously as Liam reopens his eyes.  “Look, I don’t know what you’re trying to get from this,” he says because he knows Liam always has a motive, always has a carefully-designed plan.  “Maybe you want me back as your secretary or maybe you’ve just decided that a fuck buddy will be easier to keep under the radar with Walters.  Either way, I’m not biting.”

“It’s not like that, Zayn.  I swear.”

Zayn still doesn’t trust him.  He feels restless, skittish.  “Then what’s this whole act about then?”

Liam sighs as he sinks on the bed.  “I just wanted to have breakfast with you, that’s all.”

“Why?”

Liam shakes his head.  “Never mind.  S’not important anymore.”  He’s staring blankly at the wall, catatonic-like, and Zayn would be concerned if he didn’t know it was just an act.  “See you around.”

Zayn should take that as his cue to leave, but he’s stubborn.  Now that Liam wants him to go, he no longer feels the burning desire to flee.

He has to stay; he has to know _why._

“So that’s it then?” Zayn demands.  “’See you around?’  Really?”

Liam gives him a long look, and his fists ball up as his expression hardens.  “Just leave, Zayn.  Go on and sneak out like I know you want to.”  Then under his breath, he adds, “like you did the last time.”

“Oh shut it.  Stop pretending like you give a fuck.”

Liam lifts his head, expression unreadable.  “Maybe I do.”

Zayn almost laughs in his face.  “If you did, then you wouldn’t have ended it like you did.”

“Ended what?”

And for someone who seems so clever, Zayn can’t believe how thick he can be at times.  “The bloody engagement!  You were so pumped about how great our break-up scene was gonna be at Walter’s party.  It made me realise you never cared for me at all, Liam, not even as a friend or anything.”

“But that’s not true,” Liam says stubbornly, standing up.  “That’s why I wanted to get it over with.”

“You’re talking rubbish, Liam.  Absolute bollocks.”

“Listen, I was eager to dissolve the fake engagement so we could begin again, start fresh, like.”  He takes Zayn’s hand, pads his thumb over the back of it.  “I was going to talk to you about it, ask if you wanted to go on a date with me…the real me.  One where I wasn’t paying you, where there was no legally-binding contract, and you felt like you were free to make your own decisions.”

Zayn swallows.  He knows where this is going.

“Then you left,” Liam finishes up glumly, dropping Zayn’s hand and walking a few paces away.  “You snuck out while I was asleep, and I knew I was just fooling myself.  I never had a chance with you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you had feelings for me before then?”

“I tried…on Valentine’s Day,” Liam confesses, eyes cloudy, and Zayn remembers the charity event clearly.  More specifically, he recalls the kiss that took his breath away.

Zayn clears his throat.  “The kiss,” he falters, “I thought it was just for Walters’ benefit.”

“I never even saw Walters standing there until after the kiss was over,” Liam alleges and now Zayn’s gobsmacked.

“I didn’t really try after that,” Liam continues.  “You seemed to want to be mates, at least while the fake engagement thing was driving a wedge between us, so I just went with that.  It was better than nothing, better than the way you schlepped around the flat after you first moved in, basically resenting me for breathing the same air as you.”  Liam bites his lip and sadly meets Zayn’s gaze.  “It’s like that again now, isn’t it?  You really do hate me, don’t you?”

Zayn doesn’t answer at first.  He’s lost for words; this whole thing is doing his head in.

“Can’t blame you,” Liam says resignedly, taking Zayn’s silence as confirmation.  “I tried so hard to hold on to you any way I could; I made a botch job of everything, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” Zayn acknowledges, and Liam looks like a puppy who’s just been kicked. 

He can’t believe what idiots they’ve been, if everything Liam’s said is true.  They were both scared to speak up, both afraid of being rejected by the other.  (And he’s still a little scared, if he’s honest.  Zayn’s still learning to navigate these choppy waters, and he feels like his feelings for Liam could capsize him at any moment.)    

“I’m proud of you, by the way,” Liam confides, studying his hands, “about the promotion, I mean.  I was so bloody proud when I found out you were doing something you love even if it meant I’d probably never see you again except in passing.” 

Liam takes a deep breath, then looks him in the eye.  There’s an earnestness in his gaze that Zayn’s never seen before.  “Sorry if I didn’t show it last night.  It was just a shock seeing you again, and I had so many feelings I didn’t know what to do with.”

Zayn licks his lips.  “I get it.”

“You do?”

“Yeah…I sorta felt the same way.”

Liam’s eyes gleam with a sparkle of hope.  “What are you saying, Zayn?”

Zayn can’t help but smile as he gently touches Liam’s cheek.  He feels so much lighter, like he’s filled with helium and about to float away into the atmosphere at any given moment.  “I’m saying we should order those donuts—the ones with the sprinkles—before they run out.”

And maybe it’s not the love confession of the century, but he thinks Liam can read between the lines.  Zayn hopes he can, hopes he can see that Zayn would very much like to have breakfast with Liam every Saturday morning for the rest of his life (and any future lives, for that matter).  Maybe it’s not the perfect ending to a romantic novel, but the thing is, Zayn hates endings.

So that’s why this love story doesn’t have one.

(And it never will.)

 

 

 


	8. Epilogue: Part 1 (in which Zayn and Liam get married)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovelies!!! I always said I might come back to this fic because it's one of my favourites, and well...here I am! :) 
> 
> I started some of this _months_ ago, but recently, those disconnected drabbles turned into something bigger, a story that demanded to be told. I considered posting this separately as a sequel to MM but opted for a chaptered epilogue of sorts. This will be a 3-part epilogue, 10 chapters in total. (More info on that in the end notes.) 
> 
> Once again, thank you to the amazing, talented [suburbanmotel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/suburbanmotel/pseuds/suburbanmotel/)! Also, heartfelt thanks to all the people who read, reblogged, favourited, rec'd, bookmarked, gave kudos, and/or commented on this story. Much love, Maree xx

 

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Liam’s hips still at the question.  The bed stills, and no, Zayn didn’t exactly want that.  At the same time, Zayn needs to make it clear that Liam can’t just hump him before he wakes up every morning for the rest of their lives.  

No sir.  Not happening.

“Nothing?” Liam answers in his deep, raspy morning voice.  Liam’s not moving anymore—well, he’s not _trying_ to move anyway.  His erection is still pressed against Zayn’s bum, and it’s twitching obscenely every so often, challenging Zayn’s resolve, because of course it is.

Zayn’s pyjama bottoms have practically ridden down to his thighs, and he doesn’t need to be a rocket scientist to figure out how _that_ happened.  If he closes his eyes, he can almost feel the slow drag of Liam’s hard length catching on his waistband, sliding against his crack…and all while Zayn was still in the twilight of consciousness.

It’s unfair.  It’s a proper injustice, really.  On a scale from one to ten of dick moves (no pun intended), he’d classify it as a solid twelve.

“Was it too much?” Liam checks.  He’s nervous for a change.  Timorous even.  “Too much too early, I mean?”

Zayn decides to take pity on the poor sod.  “No,” he whinges, trying to hoist up his pyjama bottoms but somehow managing to grind against Liam’s crotch in the process.  A shudder runs through his body, and he’s just able to hold back a mewling sound that he’d _never_ fucking live down.  “It wasn’t enough, Leeyum.  Not even close.”

“Oh,” Liam exhales as he wraps an arm around Zayn’s shoulders, “thought you were actually narked about it for a second there.”  He pulls Zayn close and kisses the back of his head.

“I _am_ narked about it,” Zayn grumps, rolling out of Liam’s grasp.  “You were gonna get off before I was even fully awake to enjoy it, you selfish bastard.”  He stares pointedly at the man with the guilty as fuck expression next to him.  “Don’t even try to deny it.”

“Babe—”

“Don’t ‘babe’ me,” Zayn scoffs, sounding a lot more like his mum than he probably should in the current circumstances.  “Don’t you even think about ‘babe’-ing me right now, Liam James Payne.”  Liam looks sheepish, and Zayn thinks it’s about damn time. 

“I was going to wake you,” Liam insists, “but you looked so peaceful.  Besides, I didn’t want to bother you with my little…er…problem again.”

“Pshaw.”  (Zayn means it, too.)

“I thought you’d be sore after last night.”

“We only went two rounds,” Zayn huffs, resting his back against the quilted leather headboard and folding his arms behind his head.  “The first one was right after work—kind of surprised we even made it back to the flat after the way you kept looking at me during the meeting.  And the second round…well, that doesn’t even technically count.”

Liam scrunches his nose.  “Why?”

“Because I fucked _you,_ remember?”

Liam’s positively chagrined as he rubs his bum in a way that says he most definitely remembers last night.  It was Liam’s first time so Zayn had been gentle, dicking into him slow and easy.  It was actually Liam’s suggestion, the normally-confident CTO’s shy, embarrassed request.

(And just for the record, Zayn was more than happy to oblige.  He’d do anything for Liam though, satisfy every whim and want.

Not that he’d tell Liam that of course.

On the other hand, if Zayn would’ve known he’d then be withheld privileges from Liam’s dick in-bloody-definitely, he may have thought twice about saying yes so quickly.)

Liam clears his throat and scoots up to sit beside his fiancé.  “Yeah, guess you’re right.”

Zayn gives Liam a long look.  He considers telling his boyfriend that he’s almost always right but figures it’s best to let Liam sort it out on his own.  “So according to my calculations”—Zayn checks the alarm clock—“you haven’t been inside me for over fifteen hours.  _Fifteen hours_ , Leeyum.  I’m pretty sure that’s grounds for divorce in this country.”

Liam snorts.  “First of all, it’s not grounds for—”

“It is with a dick like yours,” Zayn cuts him off, chuckling at the instant facepalm his remark elicits.  He loves winding Liam up, loves it more than anything else in the world.

(Well…almost.)

“And I already know your second argument so save your breath,” Zayn rattles on.  “You were about to say we aren’t going to be married for another month so I can’t technically divorce you yet.”

Liam drops his hands from his face.  “You’re already making plans to _divorce_ me?”

“Well, I mean…I know a good solicitor so.”

“You can’t use Meryl.  She’s mine.”

“Fine,” Zayn shrugs, “I’ll ask Harry then.”

“Harry’s not qualified,” Liam snaps, only half-serious.  “Besides, he’s my best mate.  You’ll have to find someone else.”

Zayn lets out an exasperated sigh and crosses his arms over his chest.  “Well, if it’s going to be _that_ much of a hassle, I guess I won’t bother.  I’ll just have to get used to being sexually frustrated for the rest of eternity.”

Liam chuckles.  “Good.”  He reaches over to peck his fiancé on the forehead, but Zayn swats him away. 

“Get stuffed, Liam.”

“Hey,” Liam objects, straddling Zayn in one fluid movement.  He leans in as if for a kiss, but then bypasses Zayn’s mouth to lick the shell of his ear.  “Aren’t you going to give me a chance to make it up to you?” he whispers, tickling Zayn’s ear with his lips. 

“I…uh….”  Zayn’s sure he had some sort of clever comeback lined up, but he can’t remember it now, not with the way Liam’s gyrating his hips.  It’s filthy.  Downright lascivious. 

“This what you want, babe?” Liam questions, voice low and husky.  The man’s all but giving him an impromptu lap dance, and really, that’s not playing fair. 

Zayn shouldn’t be surprised.  Contrary to popular belief, the CTO’s not one to play by the rules—especially when he wants something. 

Then again, Zayn’s not complaining.  (Not anymore.)

 

£.£.£.

 

There’s no question about it now:  Zayn’s family definitely likes Liam better than him (and it’s sort of getting on his tits).

Granted, Zayn’s been in love with the man for a while now, so it’s not like he’s exactly blind to Liam’s many positive qualities.  He gets that Liam won the attractive lottery, that he has a great smile and a perfect…well, everything.  Zayn understands his fiancé’s well minted, that he has impeccable taste and manners.  Zayn also knows how kind Liam is, that he’s a fucking softie at heart. 

Zayn _gets_ it.

Still, blood _should_ be thicker than water (unless of course you’re talking about Dan Payne, that is).

And okay, he can sort of understand Wali liking Liam better.  After all, she still hasn’t forgiven Zayn for that time he used her MAC palette for an unconventional art project back in Year Ten.  It was last minute, and she wasn’t there, and he was planning on becoming an _artist_.  (How was he to know the bloody thing cost forty quid?)

Even so, she didn’t need to flush Kipper down the toilet.  Zayn doesn’t care what their mum said about Wali being “too young to know better” either.  As he sees it, if she were old enough to get a £40 eye shadow palette, then she were bloody well old enough not to send a poor, defenceless creature to a premature end in a Bradford sewer.

(Zayn fucking loved that goldfish.)

The point is that it isn’t really Zayn’s fault when it happens.  Liam was being entirely too nice to his family, entirely too _Liam_ (when he’s not at work anyway), and it just sort of slipped out.

(Or maybe he can blame Louis.  After all, it _was_ his boss’s text that prompted it.  Besides, take any situation where things have descended into a proper shambolic state, and nine times out of ten, you’d be right in assigning at least part of the blame to Louis Tomlinson.)

So, they’re at the hall, well into the longest wedding rehearsal in recorded history, when Harry’s phone buzzes. 

“Sorry, forgot to silence it,” he apologises.  Zayn, who’s sat next to him, expects him to turn off the ringer, then pocket his device, but Harry does no such thing.  Instead, he just stares at the screen with his face scrunched up.

“What is it?” Zayn inquires as music starts up out of nowhere.  He figures they must be ready to start the run-through.  He’s having a hard time remembering all the directions the wedding planner gave them way back when they started the rehearsal, but he’s pretty sure Harry’s supposed to be up at the front and that his dad should be back here with him and not blethering on about the upcoming FA Cup Final to Liam while Zayn’s sisters fuss over Liam’s new haircut. 

(Zayn got a new haircut as well.  Dyed it, too.

No one’s mentioned it even though Zayn knows for a fact that it suits him.

_Anyway._ )

“Zayn,” Harry says with some urgency, like it’s not the first time he’s called Zayn’s name in the last minute.  “Louis wants you to ring him.”

“Yeah, will do after the rehearsal.”

Harry shifts uncomfortably on the bench.  “He, uh, says it’s an emergency.”

“Well, tell your boyfriend that his ‘emergency’ has to wait,” Zayn hisses back, trying to listen with one ear as the wedding planner starts barking out instructions over the music.  “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m sort of tied-up at the moment.”

“I think he means it,” Harry presses, glancing down at his phone.  “He’s spamming me with texts now.” 

Zayn groans in frustration but rises anyway. 

“DID I TELL YOU TO STAND, GROOM TWO?!”

Zayn’s nearly knocked backwards from the sheer volume of sound and displeasure directed at him from across the grand room.  It came from the cheesed-off wedding planner, who has clearly reached her tipping point, but nearly everyone is glaring at him.  No one seems to realise that half the people present aren’t in their proper places or that Niall—his best man—has only just returned from across the road with what looks like a decidedly sozzled officiant.  (Apparently, the two skived off rehearsal to celebrate the fact they were both from County Westmeath over a pint.)

Zayn sincerely hopes Louis has a proper crisis and isn’t just doing this for a gas (which knowing Louis Tomlinson, is a distinct possibility).  He takes a deep breath.  “I, um, have to leave…just for a few minutes though.”

“Told you he’d get cold feet,” Waliyha snorts, and Liam goes a little green. 

It’s Doniya who saves the day, thumping their younger sister on the back of the head.  And well, Zayn’s not usually one to advocate violence, but drastic times and all that.

He gives his younger sister a severe look (not that she gives two shits), then addresses the room.  “I have to make a quick phone call,” he explains, “but I’ll be right back.”  He stares directly at Liam as he says the last bit, trying to allay any doubts Wali might have planted in his fiancé’s head.

As he exits the building, he powers on his mobile.  He glances at the missed calls and texts, then speedily dials the office.  Louis answers on the first ring.

“Zayn!  Shit, hate to do this to you, man,” Louis tells him, and to give the bloke credit, he does sound genuinely sorry.  “But listen, is there any way you could send me that promotional blurb you wrote for the new Titan TTX3000 line?  I checked the link you sent yesterday, but I can’t get it to open, and I’ve a conference call with New York in twenty.”

“Did you ask Li—?” Zayn stops himself from saying something stupid.  “Never mind.”

Louis catches the gaffe because apparently this just isn’t Zayn’s day.  “No, I didn’t ask Liam for help because our Chief Technology Officer innit here, is he?”

“Well, why didn’t you try to open it earlier?” Zayn retorts, peering through a window to make sure they haven’t started without him.  (They haven’t.)  “I’m in the middle of my bloody wedding rehearsal.”

“I’m well aware,” Louis returns curtly.  “You took half the company with you when you skived off at noon.”

“It’s just Liam, Harry, Niall, and me.”

_“Exactly.”_

“Yeah, alright,” he sighs, knowing he isn’t going to win this argument.  “I can upload the doc you need to the shared drive.  I’m on mobile and there’s a dodgy connection here so give me a few minutes, yeah?”

“Knew I could count on you.  Top lad, you are.”

“Yeah, yeah.  Tell Walters that; maybe he’ll give me a rise in pay.”

“Says the person who’s about to become a multi-millionaire tomorrow,” Louis teases.  Zayn does his best to ignore the comment, ignore the way it prickles under his skin (just a little). 

He’s not marrying Liam for his money.  Zayn can support himself just fine now, thank you very much.

“Speaking of Saturday,” Louis ploughs on, “you might want to unwrap my wedding present in private.”  He snickers, and the sound rings of evil foreboding.  “Nah, on second thought, open it in front of as many people as possible—just maybe not small children.” 

There’s a pause and Zayn makes a mental note to find Louis’ gift A.S.A.P. after the ceremony tomorrow.  He’ll need to get rid of it before his mum or one of his over-curious sisters finds it.  Liam and him will be leaving for their honeymoon directly after the reception, but he can always stash the thing down a manhole or chuck it in the Thames on the way to the airport.

“Yeah, definitely not in front of small children,” Louis murmurs, almost to himself.  “I don’t want to be responsible for any permanent scarring.”

“ _Louis_ —”

“I’ll let you go now so you can send that file.  See you tomorrow and tell Payno he’s one lucky bastard!” Louis rings off then, and Zayn’s left scratching his head because _honestly_.

“Babe?”

Zayn starts before focusing on brown eyes softened with concern.  He misses those eyes already even though it’s only been a handful of minutes since he’s last seen them.  “Hi, babe.”

“Everything alright?  Your mum’s been asking about you.”

“Didn’t Harry explain?”

Liam gives him a lop-sided smile.  “Harry’s too busy calming down our wedding planner.”

Zayn chuckles to himself, imagining the scene, because of course that’s what Harry is doing.  “Yeah, everything’s cool.  Louis just needed a file pronto.”

Liam runs a hand through his hair, and yeah, he does look amazing with his new haircut.  Proper fit.  “Yeah, no problem,” Liam says, sounding relieved.  “I’ll just let everyone inside know it’ll be another five to ten minutes.”

Zayn stands on his toes to give his fiancé a peck on the cheek.  “Thanks, babe.”

“No need to thank me,” Liam returns.  “Believe me, I get it.”

“Well, _Liam_ may get it,” Trisha scolds, sneaking up on them out of nowhere, “but frankly, _I_ don’t.”

She’s a formidable woman, his mum.  If it weren’t for the fact that she’s exactly four foot seven, she’d be bloody terrifying.  When Shakespeare wrote, _“though she be but little, she is fierce,”_ the man obviously knew what he was talking about.  Indeed, Zayn’s always been convinced that his mum could have made a killing in cage fighting—one look, and even the strongest of opponents would be left cowering in the corner. 

But not Zayn.  Not today.

“Mum,” he says, trying to reason with her, “I’ve got to do something for work, won’t take more than a minute or two, and—”

“Can’t it wait?  Liam’s made such an effort to put you first, before his job—as a _CTO_ , mind you—and the least you could do would be to reciprocate on a day like today.” 

It takes everything Zayn has not to snap at his mum then.  It really does. 

In all fairness, much of what she’s saying is perfectly valid.  Liam _has_ put their relationship first, something Zayn never thought possible until it actually happened.  It helps that they both work for the same company—a good company under much better management than Payne Innovations ever was—and that they both understand the demands and pressures of their individual jobs.  Even so, Liam has managed a complete 180 from the irritable workaholic he used to be.

“Sunshine, you owe it to your fiancé to be here,” his mum continues, softening a smidge.  “I’m sure he has things to do at the office as well, him being a _CTO_ and all,” she tacks on, just in case Zayn’s forgotten his husband-to-be’s job title since the last time she’s mentioned it, “but you don’t see _him_ ducking out, do you?”

“He did,” Zayn returns peevishly because just like the wedding planner, he’s bloody had it.  “Or maybe you don’t remember Liam returning to London _three days early_ the first time I brought him home.”

“ _Babe_ ,” Liam pleads, a hint of warning in his voice (that Zayn disregards because of course he does).  “Babe, you know that was different.”

“Why, Liam?  Why was it different?” Zayn demands.  “Look, just because we weren’t actually enga—”  Zayn stops midsentence.  He can feel his eyes bulge as he slaps both hands over his mouth. 

“Weren’t actually what?” his mum asks, one eyebrow curling up, and all Zayn can think is _she knows_.

Zayn decides to play it cool.  He tries not to let on how he’s a minging idiot who’s just dropped the clanger of the century, but it’s a tall fucking order.  Besides, he can tell his mum smells fear, and she’s about to pounce.

“Zayn,” she prompts sweetly, but he isn’t fooled.  He can tell it’s the calm before the storm.  “Sunshine, do you fancy explaining what you just said?”

Zayn rubs the back of his neck.  He looks at his mum.  He looks at Liam.  He looks at his mum again and tries to think.

Suddenly, Liam clears his throat.  He searches Zayn’s eyes for permission, and resignedly, Zayn grants it. 

It’s time.  _Way_ past time, in fact. 

“Trisha,” Liam begins, and Zayn’s sure this man must be the bravest person he’s ever met, “there’s something we should tell you.”  Liam glances at Zayn, then reaches out to grab his fiancé’s hand.  “Well, there’s something I should start telling you while your son sends that file to a colleague of ours who I imagine is going to have a nervous breakdown if he doesn’t receive it soon.”

Zayn nods but doesn’t budge.  Liam squeezes his hand to reassure him even though he’s got to be just as nervous as Zayn is right now.  After all, Liam’s practically been adopted by the Maliks, and there’s no way he’s coming out of this looking like a saint, having been the one to propose the idea of the pragmatic business arrangement in the first place.

“I’m sorry,” Zayn says, and he’s not sure who the apology is directed at—Liam or his mum.  (Probably both.)

“Nah, it’s better this way,” Liam assures him, and honestly, Zayn could snog him for it.  (He could snog him for a lot of other things as well, but he’ll save that for the honeymoon.)

Zayn wanders off then, mobile held out in his hand like a Geiger counter as he searches for some sort of connection to send the file.  He just prays his mum is still speaking to him by the time he returns.

 

£.£.£.

 

The first thing his mum asks when they’re alone is whether the CTO ever took advantage of his position or pressured him into anything.  She’s concerned about his welfare first and foremost because of course she is.  However, after Zayn swears that Liam never did anything of the sort, she goes off like fireworks on Bonfire Night.  She ends her eleven-minute tirade with a promise that if he ever keeps something like that from her again, he’ll regret it.  She doesn’t expound on the threat, but that doesn’t make it any less effective.

Zayn tells Doniya himself.  She snorts, assures him he’s lost the plot if he thinks their first engagement was totally fake.  Then, she asks him to bring her something back from Tahiti—if Liam and him ever get around to leaving their hotel room, she adds with a wink.

His dad laughs heartedly when he finds out later that night, slapping them both on the backs.  “Mashallah” is the first word that escapes Yaser’s lips as he marvels at the way everything has turned out.  Then, he hugs Liam and calls him “son.”  (And if Zayn has to wipe his eyes when he sees the look of pure happiness on Liam’s face, then no one needs to know.)

 

£.£.£.

 

The wedding goes off without a hitch (despite a rubbish rehearsal and their wedding planner’s “grave” concerns).  Everyone’s there—Harry, Niall, Louis, Karen, Zayn’s family…even Walters and his husband.

When Zayn starts to recite his vows, Liam tears up, though he’s hardly the only one.  Indeed, there are myriad sniffles throughout the hall—Zayn _is_ a writer, after all—but he only has eyes for the man standing before him.  As Zayn utters a final promise, he gazes deep into Liam’s eyes:

_“For the rest of my life, for the rest of yours.  For the rest of ours.”_

And he means it, too.  Means it with all of his heart.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the first instalment. The next one is subtitled "in which Zayn and Liam go on a honeymoon" so you can guess what that's going to include. ;P There will also be some nerd!ziam thrown in because I can't help myself. 
> 
> P.S. Zayn's 'vows' at the end were, of course, taken from "Let Me."
> 
> P.P.S. If you have a moment, tell me your favourite bit(s). It would mean the world. :) xx


	9. Epilogue: Part 2 (in which Zayn and Liam go on a honeymoon)

 

“Babe, why is there a sexy secretary costume in your bag?” Liam whispers as they stand in the customs office at LAX.  Zayn’s been chosen for a ‘random’ security check because of course he has. 

“Don’t ask,” Zayn mumbles back, cheeks heating up. 

Liam quirks his lips as the security officer continues to comb through Zayn’s carry-on.  Zayn can tell the guy’s new with how painfully thorough he is.  Meticulous even.  Not a single bloody item is missed as he examines the contents of the suitcase, placing everything on the table next to him when he’s satisfied.  There are a number of items on the table already, not least of all the sexy secretary costume.  It’s still in its original packaging, complete with appalling cover illustration.

Then, somehow, it gets worse.

The officer picks up a large box containing lube—brand new, thankfully—and holds it up for another agent to see.  “Hey, do lubricants count as liquids?” he yells across the room and several people look up.  Zayn, of course, stares down at the floor and wishes he could make a hole in it. 

Liam nudges him in the side as the officer goes to confer with a supervisor.  “What’s with the massive box of lube, babe?”

“S’not massive; it’s economy-sized,” Zayn mumbles back defensively.  “Besides, it was on sale.”

Liam covers a cough as the security officer returns.  The guy’s looking apologetic as he holds up the box in question.  “I’m sorry, sir, but I’ll have to confiscate this,” he informs Zayn.

“Okay.”

The guy keeps talking anyway, holding the box containing the contraband tube of lube shoulder-high like he’s doing a bloody toothpaste commercial.  “According to regulations, passengers are not permitted to carry liquids exceeding 3.4 ounces or 100 millilitres on any—”

“Yeah, yeah.  Cool, mate,” Zayn says, cutting him off politely.  He’s not sure how much more of this he can take.  “Yeah.  I, like, totally get it.”

“—Or domestic flights leaving the United States,” the officer prattles on like he’s been waiting for the opportunity to recite this monologue all his life.  “Since LAX is your port of entry, I’m afraid—”

“We’re going to miss our flight,” Liam finishes, saving the day.  “Thank you for your time, Officer Handy.  We appreciate your, er….”

“Diligence?” Zayn suggests.

“Diligence,” Liam agrees, shaking the man’s hand.

“Thank you both for your cooperation,” the man says as he steps away.  Zayn shoves everything haphazardly back into his suitcase, then hurriedly searches for the zip.  “You two said you were on your honeymoon, right?”

“That’s right,” Liam replies with a smile in Zayn’s direction.  He looks proper chuffed, like he’s just won at life (when Zayn well knows it’s the other way around).

“Have fun,” the man winks, and Zayn can feel his cheeks burning. 

As they make their way towards the gate, Liam starts laughing his arse off.  “When you said you’d be up for cosplay, I have to admit I was thinking more along the lines of Comic-con than bad porn.  Tell me, Mr. Sexy Secretary,” he teases, “what other surprises do you have in store for me?”

Zayn keeps walking past him, dragging his suitcase behind him.  “Shut it, you.  It’s not even mine.”

“Sure.  It just ‘happened’ to be in your luggage, right?”

“Two words:  Louis bloody Tomlinson.”  And yes, technically, that was three words, but Zayn’s dealing with a lot right now.  He hadn’t had a lot of options by the time he remembered Louis' wedding gift and unwrapped it when no one was looking, so he just stashed it in his already-packed suitcase until he could think of somewhere to hide it until they got back from their trip.

“You know,” Liam says cheekily, “you should try it on when we get to the hotel.”

Zayn stops abruptly and pivots around.  “Listen.  There’s no way I’m dressing in any bloody sexy secretary costume, mate—not even for a laugh.  Probably wouldn’t even fit; it’s meant for a bird.”

Liam smirks.  “That your final word on the matter?”

“Yes.  It’s my absolute, final word, and I am _not_ changing my mind.” 

There’s a wicked glimmer in Liam’s eyes.  “Not even if I pretend to be a naughty CTO?”

“N-not even then.”

“Too bad,” Liam laments, and Zayn knows himself, knows he’s going to cave like he always does where Liam’s concerned.  (One quick glance at his husband—yes, _husband_ —tells him Liam knows it, too.)  Zayn will be wearing the minging costume by the end of their honeymoon.

Then again, maybe he can get Liam to bend him over a desk if he wears that ridiculous costume, manhandle him as only Liam knows how.  And yeah, it might be worth it for that.

Practically _anything_ is worth it for that.

 

£.£.£.

 

“May the fourth be with you!” Liam proclaims from where he’s sat cross-legged in the centre of the bed, and Zayn has to fight the urge to slap his new husband upside the head because _honestly._

“Dork,” Zayn settles on, tightening the towel around his waist.  “Besides it’s not even the fourth anymore,” he points out, busily searching for something to wear in the cupboard drawers even though he hasn’t unpacked yet.  He finds a pair of gym shorts—Liam’s—and slides them on.  Chucking his towel in the direction of the laundry basket, he collapses onto clean, fresh sheets.

And it’s fucking _incredible._  

“You sure?”

Zayn yawns, then looks up.  “Mhm?”

“You sure it’s not the fourth?”  Liam scratches his head.  “Thought Tahiti was 11 hours behind.”

“It is, but we just spent twice that on a bloody plane.”

“Too bad,” Liam sulks.  “I wrote you a poem for the occasion and everything.”

Zayn’s ears perk up because Liam’s never written him anything before—well, apart from his vows which Harry apparently helped on.  Then again, words have always been more Zayn’s department than Liam’s.  “Really, babe?  You wrote me a poem?”

“Yeah, but before you get excited,” Liam cautions, looking a little sheepish now, “know that it’s not quite up to your level.”

“Oh, babe.  Just the fact that you felt inspired enough to write love poetry about me…well, I can’t wait to hear it.  Go on.”

Liam clears his throat: “ _Roses are red. Violets are blue. I’m so glad we’re married. May the fourth—”_

“If this ends how I think it’s going to end, you’re sleeping outside,” Zayn cuts him off.  He crosses his hands over his chest and stares at the ceiling while Liam cracks up beside him.

It had been a long day of celebrating before they even jetted off on their honeymoon.  Tack on a full day of travelling, and Zayn’s beyond knackered right now.

Liam should be, too.  (Spoiler alert:  he’s not.)  In fact, before they had even collected their bags in Papeete, the man had the audacity to suggest a guided tour.  Zayn, being the accepting husband he is, didn’t hold it against him, just chalked it up to heat exhaustion combined with the lingering effects of too much champagne.

But everyone has their limits, and apparently, Zayn has discovered his.  He’s only just finished his shower and climbed into bed, and now, he’s being forced to listen to naff jokes about their wedding date.  It’s a lot to ask of anyone.

Liam pokes him in the ribs.  “Hey, friendly reminder that you agreed to that date— _twice_ , I might add.”

“Yeah, but the first time was when we were fake-engaged, Leeyum,” Zayn whinges, rolling over on to his tummy and burying his face in the pillow.  “Back then, I thought it was just some random calendar date you whipped out of your arse when Louis put you on the spot,” he grumbles, voice muffled by the pillow.

“Bollocks.”

“Fine,” Zayn relents.  He shifts to face his husband.  “Okay, I figured it wasn’t completely random once I got to know you better, and I thought it was sick and all, but I didn’t think that was the pure reason you chose the bloody date in the first place.”

Liam raises an eyebrow.  “Says the man who literally has a glow-in-the-dark light sabre on his finger.”

“What of it?  I like light sabres, mate.”

“Well,” Liam teases, waggling his eyebrows suggestively, “if you play your cards right, I just might show you _my_ light sabre later.”

“Ughhh,” Zayn groans, pulling the sheet up over his head.  “ _This_ is what I’m talking about.  I’m going to be subjected to these lame-ass jokes on each and every wedding anniversary, aren’t I?  Like, if I wanted to listen to crap jokes for the rest of my life, I would’ve married Harry.”

“C’mon, you know you love them,” Liam chuckles.  “You’re as much of a nerd as I am.”

“…Said no one ever.”

Liam snorts.  “Well, there’s bugger-all we can do about the wedding date now, babe.  You’re just going to have to live with it.

“That’s what you think.”

Liam jabs him in the ribs through the sheet, and it _tickles._   Zayn lets out an embarrassingly-girlish squeal before retaliating with a backwards kick that makes contact with Liam’s thigh.

“Listen,” his husband cautions, “if that were a little higher up, I wouldn’t be able to deliver on that mind-blowing honeymoon sex I promised you.”

“Sex?” Zayn echoes, popping his head out from under the sheets.  “The word sounds vaguely familiar, but you’ll have to jog my memory.”

“It’s only been eight days, babe—well, not counting the time difference.” 

“Humph,” Zayn replies (and he means it, too).  “Don’t bloody remind me.”  

Liam offers a half-smile.  “Hasn’t exactly been a picnic for me either.”

Zayn sits up because there’s no way he’s taking this lying down.  “Was your idea.”

“Well, you agreed to it,” Liam reminds him, beginning to sound like a broken record.  “Or don’t you remember?”

Oh Zayn remembers.  He remembers how narked he was that he couldn’t go on that business trip to Spain with Liam because he had a massive campaign to work on himself.  It was the first time they’d been apart in months, and Zayn would’ve been perfectly content to bide the time with a few steamy skype sessions, but _no._   Liam thought it would be good to wait, to quit cold turkey leading up to their wedding and honeymoon. 

Seven days in Tahiti.  It sounded like a dream, holidaying in French Polynesia, but after a 22-hour flight (in which they, regrettably, did NOT join the mile-high club), Zayn’s starting to change his mind.  He would’ve been content with Majorca or even a short drive up to Blackpool, to stay in some random bed and breakfast, as long as it meant he could be with his husband and not feel like three week-old roadkill.

Bloody hell, at this point, he would’ve settled for _Swansea._

Liam curves an arm around Zayn’s back.  “Figured we’d make our wedding night special, eh?”

Zayn makes a non-committal noise, resists his natural urge to curl closer into the man beside him.

Yes, Zayn had gone along with Liam’s suggestion, but that was before he thought the whole thing through, proper like; before Zayn’s balls were beginning to turn blue because he hadn’t even jerked off since Liam returned from his trip.  (After all, Zayn didn’t want to look weak in front of his then-fiancé who apparently had balls and a will of steel. 

Or maybe Liam was just better at avoiding temptation.  He had been purposely looking away whenever Zayn undressed at the flat.  Liam even went so far as to stop a snogging session short.  His sketchy excuse was that he needed to go to the gym—for the second time that day—to work off some extra energy.

In all fairness, he probably did.)

“Technically, Liam, our wedding night was spent on a plane—or several planes to be exact.”

“That doesn’t make the idea any less romantic,” Liam insists, and Zayn feels sorry for him, figures the CTO must be cracking a little under the strain of recent weeks.  “In fact, I think it was a beautiful show of our commitment and love to spend our wedding night travelling to the other side of the world.”

Yeah, Liam’s definitely gone a few French fries short of a Happy Meal.  Zayn’s usually the romantic, is the thing, and even _he_ can’t see the romance in that drivel.  Zayn’s already consented to “for better or for worse,” however, so he figures it’s best to just humour the poor chap and get on with it.

“Absolutely, babe,” Zayn agrees.  “Nothing says ‘I love you’ like not shagging on one’s wedding night—or for ten years before one’s nuptials, for that matter.”

“You’re exaggerating, babe.”

“I never exaggerate, Leeyum; I merely dabble in hyperbole.”

Liam’ face screws up like a confused puppy, and Zayn’s sure that expression gets more fucking adorable the more often he sees it.  “What does that even mean?” the CTO asks.  “Like, bottom line?”

“It means that although we’ve been abstaining from sex for approximately eight days, it feels more like ten years.”

“Oh, I couldn’t agree more.”

“Good,” Zayn approves, “because the sex is the second best thing about being in a relationship with you.”

Liam brightens.  “What’s the first?”

“Give me a few minutes,” Zayn deadpans.  “I’m sure I can come up with something.”

Liam rolls his eyes.  “You are the bloody worst, Zayn Malik.”

“Malik- _Payne_.  Can’t believe you’re still mucking up my last name,” Zayn tsks.  “Thought we were way past that, babe.  Next thing I know you’ll be calling me Macklin again.”

Liam blushes guiltily.  “Sorry, still getting used to the feel of it on my tongue.”

“Hope that’s not the only thing you’ll be getting used to on your tongue this trip….”

It was meant as a joke, a throw-away punchline, a bit of rude banter, but Liam doesn’t take it that way.  His eyes darken; the blush present on his cheeks mere moments ago, a distant memory. 

“Come here,” Liam rasps, voice heavy with want.  “ _Now._ ”

Liam doesn’t have to ask twice.

Zayn pounces, nearly knocks Liam backwards as he smashes their lips together.  Liam’s hands smoothe over the muscles of Zayn’s back as they kiss, finally settling on the curve of Zayn’s ass, just above the elastic of his shorts.

“God, missed this so much,” Liam groans when they come up for air.

“But it’s only been eight days,” Zayn reminds him cheekily as he presses their foreheads together.  It centres him, grounds him.  He closes his eyes, tries not to let on how desperately he’s missed this, too.

“Shut it, you,” Liam growls.  Grabbing Zayn’s ass, he roughly grinds up against him.

“ _Fuck_ , Liam,” Zayn gasps.  “I wouldn’t do that again unless you want come in your shorts.”

Liam just grins, evil bastard he is.  “As much as I love you in my clothes, I think I like you better out of them.”  Liam tugs at the drawstring, and Zayn rolls off him to do the rest of the work. 

Liam uses the time wisely.  He removes his boxers, then peels off his shirt to reveal the perfectly-chiselled masterpiece underneath.  Liam’s toned back faces him now, and it’s hard for Zayn not to gawk at his husband’s body.  It almost doesn’t seem fair that he’s the only one who gets to enjoy it—well, _fully_ enjoy it anyway.  It’s like some wild injustice; a cosmic imbalance.

Then again, Zayn’s not complaining.  He figures he must have done something pretty fucking spectacular in another life to be gifted with Liam James Malik-Payne in this one.

“Now where were we?” Liam asks after he’s stripped down to nothing (after they’ve _both_ stripped down to nothing).

“Mind-blowing honeymoon sex, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Ah, that’s right,” Liam replies with that smug confidence he only brings to the boardroom and the bedroom.  Without looking, he reaches behind him and pulls out a tube of lube—not economy-sized, for the record—from beneath his pillow.  He throws it on the bed between them.

Zayn swallows.  He’s so fucking turned on, and they’ve barely begun.  “Want me on my knees or—?”

“Nah, wanna see you this time,” Liam murmurs, caressing Zayn’s cheek with his thumb.  “Wanna see the look in my husband’s eyes when I open him up for the first time.”

“First time?” Zayn repeats, quirking his lips.  “Were all the times we shagged in the past that forgettable?”

“ _Oh, babe_ ,” Liam simpers, “everything else was just practice.”

And if Zayn is still alive and breathing after that, it’s no thanks to the CTO of Titan Technologies.

Liam props himself up on several pillows, and when he’s settled, Zayn swings a leg over to straddle him.  Then, Zayn waits.  Somehow, he manages to resist the urge to rut against the man beneath him even though his cock is aching for friction. 

Liam beckons him closer, pulling at Zayn’s chain with crook’d finger and his desire with a come-hither stare.  Their mouths melt together.  Their bodies move as one.  It’s natural.  Symbiotic.

When Liam gently nudges at his entrance, Zayn moans into the other man’s mouth.  His back arches, hips press backward of their own accord to welcome the intrusion.  He had nearly forgotten that they planned to take this further, but now that he remembers, he’s impatient.  He wants more. 

A second lubed finger soon joins the first, and Zayn takes it in stride.  He’s so relaxed, so wrapped up in _them_ rather than _him_.  He’s able to let go with Liam like he never has with anyone else.

He feels the third.

Zayn has to break the kiss then, reluctantly peel his mouth away to breathe through the stretch.  Liam knows him well enough not to stop, and he doesn’t.  He gives Zayn a moment to adjust to the extra digit before he starts scissoring them back and forth, purposely brushing against _that spot_ over and over.

“Babe,” Zayn warns, one hand clinging to the sheets; the other, to Liam’s shoulder.  “You’re going to make me come if you don’t stop that.”

Liam smiles like the little shit he is.  “Isn’t that kinda the point?” he murmurs before wrapping his free hand around Zayn’s throbbing, needy erection.  Zayn mewls at the touch.  His entire body quivers.  He braces himself.  If he had a valid argument for why he shouldn’t come in Liam’s hands right then and there, he can’t think of it now.

It’s actually embarrassing how quickly he _does_ come after that:  Liam’s fingers stretching him, teasing his prostrate until it’s more than he can take; Liam’s hand coaxing out the much-needed release; Liam’s name on his lips…as it always is.

(As it always will be.)

“Need a few minutes?” Liam inquires as he gently removes his fingers.  He uses his discarded shirt to wipe his hands clean.

Zayn groans from where he’s now collapsed on Liam’s chest.  “Wanted to come _with_ you,” he whinges, suddenly recalling the objection that slipped his mind when Liam’s hand was on his dick.

“You weren’t going to last,” Liam tells him with a chuckle.  “I could see it in your eyes.  Besides, I love making you feel good.”

“Well mission fucking accomplished.”

Liam smirks.  “Did I say I was finished?”

When their mouths meet again, there’s no question where this is headed.  Hips twist.  Muscles strain.  Fingers stroke.  They make love without making love.  

Zayn could do this all day except he can’t.  He’s already half-hard again, but more than that, he needs to feel Liam _inside_ him. 

“Just fucking get in me already,” he pants as Liam nips at his neck. 

“How romantic,” Liam teases before taking a hold of himself with a sure hand.  “Have a seat,” he invites, and Zayn shudders because _honestly_.

Zayn squirts a dollop of lube in his palm, then slicks his hand down Liam’s hard length.  He positions himself, then waits for Liam to lock eyes with him before slowly lowering himself down. 

“You alright, babe?” Liam checks, and Zayn nods, but he doesn’t move.  Yes, he’s taking a second to adjust, but he’s also cataloguing this moment:  the softness in Liam’s chocolate eyes, the way his wedding band sparkles in the afternoon’s golden light, the sweet perfume of hibiscus flowers filtering in through the open window.  He’s full—physically, spiritually, and emotionally.  He wishes he could freeze-frame this moment, come back to it again and again.  He wishes—

“Don’t you dare wax poetic while you’re sitting on my dick,” Liam says, a line of perspiration forming across his forehead.

Liam knows him so well.

“Sorry,” Zayn replies sheepishly before starting to move.

He loses himself in the feeling then, in the pure, corporeal pleasure.  He bounces on Liam’s dick, rides him until his thighs burn, until he’s a panting mess, until his vision is painted by stars.  When it’s too much, Liam takes over, rabbiting up into him at a punishing pace.  Zayn’s sure his husband’s chasing his own high.  He can just feel Liam’s dick start to pulse within him, and he’s ready.

But then Liam surprises him because he stops…cold.

Zayn hopes he isn’t waiting for him to come again because that’s not going to happen (not before Liam anyway).  But then, Liam shifts beneath him.  They lock eyes again, and it’s overwhelmingly intimate—erotic even. 

“I love you,” Zayn declares because he has to.  He knows it’s cliché to announce it when they’re naked, wrapped in the throes of passion, but he can’t hold back any longer.

Liam answers with his eyes, with his body.  He starts thrusting into him again, deep and at a whole new angle.  Zayn holds his lover’s gaze until he can’t anymore, until his eyes roll back into his head and he’s coming untouched, spilling between their hot, sticky bodies.  Liam follows seconds after, grunting as he achieves his own release, filling Zayn with everything he has.

“Love you, too,” Liam declares as soon as he catches his breath.  He kisses the top of Zayn’s head, sifts gentle fingers through his hair.  

“Love you more.”

“Doubt it.”

“Don’t argue with me, Leeyum.  I know what I’m talking about.”

Liam just chuckles, and Zayn can hear the sound reverberate throughout his chest from where he’s lying, ear pressed to Liam’s heart.   

Liam softens and pulls out gingerly.  “Should probably get you cleaned up,” he says, and the man’s got a valid point.  The only problem is that Zayn’s _comfortable_ , dammit.

Zayn yawns against Liam’s heated skin.  “Gimme ten minutes.”  

“You’ll be asleep in five.”

Liam knows him so well.  It’s Zayn’s last coherent thought before he drifts off to sleep—warm and safe and loved.

So incredibly loved.

 

£.£.£.

 

Liam wakes him up an hour later.  Zayn’s about to tell him to kindly piss off—split infinitive and all—when Liam suggests they take a shower…

_Together._

(And it’s not the best idea Liam’s ever had, but it’s definitely up there.  Top ten, at the least.)

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this was worth the wait. ;)
> 
> Much love and maybe let me know what you thought? Two more parts coming soon. Next chapters will take place six months or so later. :) ~Maree xx


	10. Epilogue: Part 3 (in which Zayn definitely isn’t jealous)

 

**~ six months later ~**

 

Zayn smiles as he closes his laptop.  He’s done for the day, caught up with all his e-mails and projects and with a minute to spare.  His smile widens when he thinks about going home, about spending some much-needed time with his husband.

He picks up his office phone and dials Liam’s extension.

“Sorry, babe,” Liam says in lieu of a greeting, and Zayn already knows what’s coming as his smile takes flight.  “Something’s come up, and I’m probably going to need another hour or so.”

Zayn translates that to two hours based on the way Liam sounds, like he’s wading through a river of work (or maybe drowning in it).  “No problem,” Zayn returns, trying not to let his disappointment bleed through.  Liam had promised he’d try to leave on time tonight, that they’d go somewhere special for dinner, maybe catch up on the list of films they’ve been meaning to watch. 

His eyes fall on the framed photograph of them on his desk.  The vibrant, colourful market in Papeete paints a perfect backdrop for the honeymoon snapshot.  Zayn remembers the day well, remembers it was one of the few times they managed to keep their hands off each other long enough to venture outside.

To be honest, it’s not the greatest picture Zayn’s ever taken—he’s squinting in the sunlight and his cheeks are a little sunburnt—but it might be his all-time favourite because of Liam.  More specifically, it’s the way Liam’s _looking_ at him.  So fond.  Like Zayn’s his everything.

Like Zayn’s all he’ll ever need.

“Babe?  You still there?”

Zayn tears his gaze away from the photo.  “Sorry, zoned out.  I’ll, uh, probably wait for you in the coffee shop across the street.  I need to get out of this place.”

“Tell me about it,” Liam mutters.

Zayn could tell Liam about a lot of things, starting with how he wishes they could spend more quality time together. 

And he gets it, he does.  He’s married to the CTO of a multi-billion-pound company that underwent a merger a year ago.  There have been some growing pains for everyone—well, mostly everyone.  Aside from writing the odd press release, Zayn hasn’t been affected by the changes all that much.  He’s had his same job in his same office while Liam’s been right in the centre of everything, knee-deep in technology strategy and infrastructure challenges.

“Why don’t you take the car?” Liam suggests, breaking into his thoughts.  “I can always get a taxi later.  You shouldn’t have to wait around for me, and honestly, I’m not exactly sure how long this is going to take.”

“I don’t mind,” Zayn reassures him.  “Maybe I’ll see if Niall’s up for a pint or something.”

“Niall’s _always_ up for a pint.”

Zayn laughs at the truth in Liam’s words.  He can’t help but think back on their wedding rehearsal when Niall and their officiant went missing for close to two hours.  “So what is it you’re working on tonight?  Maybe I could lend a hand?”

“No.”

“But—”

“Zayn, we talked about this,” Liam says patiently, and he’s right.  They agreed it would be best to separate their work lives from their personal lives as much as possible.  Now that Liam’s in Titan Tower though, it’s become increasingly more difficult to keep that promise.  “You’ve got your own responsibilities,” Liam points out.  “Besides, I don’t think you’d be much help tonight unless you’ve somehow managed to become a coding expert in your spare time.”

Zayn’s inclined to inform his husband that he could have gotten any number of certificates with all the ‘spare time’ (a.k.a., Liam-less time) he’s had in the past several weeks.  But he doesn’t.  He doesn’t want to make Liam feel guilty, especially since he knows things will get better soon.  The company’s main problem has been that it’s growing faster than they can keep up with.  Walters keeps assuring everyone that there’s a light at the end of the tunnel, but right now, Zayn can’t even see a fucking glimmer. 

“Coding?  That sounds like a headache,” Zayn sympathises.

“Yeah.  Apparently, the issues are severely impacting UX—a fact that just came to my attention about twenty minutes ago,” Liam grumbles.  “I’m trying to work out the kinks now.”

“I’d be more than happy to work out some ‘kinks’ with you later, babe,” Zayn offers in his sexiest phone voice.

“Babe,” Liam grouses, “ _I’m at work_.” 

“So am I.  Right under you,” Zayn chirps back merrily.  “And, by the way, have I ever told you how much I enjoy being under you, Liam Malik-Payne?”

“I’m hanging up.”

“Okay,” Zayn chuckles.  “See you a little later, babe.  Love you.”

“Love you, bye.”

Zayn hears the click a second later, and if he were his previous self, he might be overthinking the fact that Liam definitely gave him the bum’s rush just now.  However, Zayn 2.0 just shrugs it off.  Liam’s busy.  The CTO just wanted to get back to work.  Besides, Zayn hasn’t got time to overthink these things.

Mainly because Louis is smirking at him from the doorway.

Zayn groans inwardly.  “You heard that, didn’t you?”

“Not all of it, but I did hear the kinks bit,” the marketing director acknowledges.  “Oh, and the part about how much you like—”

“Is there a reason you’re eavesdropping on my personal calls?” Zayn asks brusquely because _honestly_.

“Yes.  I’m your boss, and you’re at work.”

Zayn glances at the wall clock.  “It’s after five.”

“Well, _now_ it is.”

Zayn bites the inside of his cheek and forces himself to remember that Louis is his boss.  “So what it is you needed?”

“I was trying to think of a word—the _mot juste_ , if you will.  Figured you could lend us a hand.”

“No problem.”  Zayn waits for Louis to continue.

“Oh, I thought of it a while back,” Louis confides nonchalantly, and Zayn wants to bung something at him, boss or not.  “That conversation was wildly entertaining, by the way.  I always saw you two as being a vanilla sort of couple, but I have to say I’m proper—”

“Goodnight, Louis,” Zayn grits out before Louis can say another word.  The marketing exec can barely contain himself.  He salutes Zayn before exiting, then starts cackling obnoxiously the moment he’s out of the room. 

Zayn sighs as he gets his things together.  Most days, he loves having one of his best mates for a boss.  (This is not one of those days.)

 

£.£.£.

 

Ten minutes later, Zayn’s leaning against Niall’s desk in Human Resources.  As Niall finishes typing his last e-mail of the day, Zayn’s gaze wanders.  He’s only been down here a few times since the redesign, but he can’t get over how much the new Titan Tower HR looks like a replica of the old Payne Innovations offices.  It’s larger, of course, and there are several additional workspaces—all empty by this time in the evening.  The eye-soar lime green chairs are gone, and “Titan” is emblazoned in goldenrod all over, but everything else looks pretty much the same.

One slight difference are the words etched on the glass at the entrance to the offices:  _Harry Styles, Senior HR Director, Titan Technologies._ As Zayn stares out into the corridor, the Senior HR Director himself walks past the glass and strolls through the door into Human Resources. 

Harry stops suddenly, then smacks himself on the forehead.“Oh, bugger.”  He gives the file he’s holding a frustrated slap.  “Can you believe I just went all the way up to the top floor to deliver this to Liam, then left without giving it to him?”

“Yes,” Niall answers, not looking up from his screen.

“Remind me why I keep you around?” Harry joshes good-naturedly.

“Because I like my job, and you can’t get rid of me, not without cause.”

Harry chuckles and his dimples show.  “It’s true,” he tells Zayn.  “I even tried to promote him once.”

“Twice,” Niall corrects, “but I’m no eejit.  I see how much you lot work.”  He wears a proud expression as he leans back all the way in his desk chair and folds his arms behind his head.  “As long as I’ve enough for my simple wants and a round down the pub now and then, I’m happy as a clam.”

“See what I mean?” Harry laments.  He throws his hands up in the air, but his twinkling green eyes give him away.  “And what’s our head writer doing down in HR?  Please tell me this is a personal visit, Zayn, and nothing to do with your direct supervisor.”  Zayn can tell he’s only half-kidding.

“Nah, nothing to do with Louis,” Zayn chuckles, and Harry seems to breathe a little easier.  “Niall and I are going for drinks.  We’d invite you, but I happen to know you’ve a date with my ‘direct supervisor.’”

“Ugh, yes—after I make a trip upstairs again, then finish the report I was working on.”  Harry flips up the ruffle on the end of his sleeve to check his watch.  “How is it half five?  Can someone please tell me how it could possibly be half five?”

Niall shuts down his computer.  “Does Liam need that tonight?”

“Yes, unfortunately.”

“I’d be happy to give it to him,” Zayn volunteers.

“I’m sure you would,” Harry observes drily, and Niall stifles a laugh.  “May I remind you that the last time you ‘visited’ our CTO in his office after hours, I had a complaint from housekeeping about a ‘mysterious stain.’”  Harry crosses his arms over his chest.  “We ended up having to get the couch in Liam’s office replaced—eight hundred quid—half of which came out of Liam’s paycheque, if you recall; that furniture was brand new.”

Niall starts chortling.  “Bet it was worth every penny, eh?” he asks, and Zayn just winks at him.  (It was _totally_ worth it.)

“Mr. Styles?” a girl’s voice inquires.  She’s standing in the doorway, and a quick glance confirms that Zayn’s never laid eyes on her before.  He may not know everyone’s name in Titan Tower, but he’s fairly good with faces—especially those faces belonging to people who stay after regular business hours. 

And there’s no way he’s ever seen this girl before.

He almost laughs at his first thought, that she looks like one of Liam’s dates from back when Zayn first started at Payne Innovations.  Those were not Zayn’s favourite times, not by a longshot.  In fact, it’s hard not to grimace now at the memory of the revolving door of women Zayn had to deal with as Liam’s secretary.

It truly is remarkable how much this girl fits Liam’s former ‘type’ though:  a caked-up, leggy brunette, maybe with a few extra curves thrown in. 

“Ms. Vermouth,” Harry beams, “you are a sight for sore eyes!  Listen, are you heading back upstairs by any chance, or are you done for the day?”

“Actually,” she says breathily, “Liam asked me to come down and save you a trip.  Oh, and I’m not leaving just yet, Mr. Styles.  Liam asked if I could stay a little longer, and I couldn’t refuse him,” she titters.  Zayn can’t help but wonder why this girl seems to be on a first name basis with _his_ husband, yet she still calls Harry by his surname.  “He’s just such a joy to work with, you know.”

Niall raises an eyebrow.  “Just checking—when you said ‘he’s such a joy to work with,’ you _were_ talking about Liam Malik-Payne, CTO of Titan Technologies, right?”

The girl nods, wide-eyed.  “Of course.”

“Well, blow me,” Niall whistles.   

Harry shoots his secretary an annoyed look before turning back to the girl.  “Well, we won’t waste any more of your time, Ms. Vermouth; I’m sure you’re wanted upstairs.”  He hands over the file.  “Oh, and have a lovely evening.”

“You as well, Mr. Styles!” she returns, batting fake eyelashes that Zayn suddenly has the urge to pluck out, one-by-one.  Then, she nods at each of them and struts out the door, hips practically swinging into the next postal code.

“Who was that?” Zayn asks evenly, and he’s almost proud of himself.  He’s not overreacting, not jumping to conclusions like he might have done back in the day.  There’s no need to have a strop over nothing, after all.  She’s probably just some new coder helping Liam sort out those issues they were having with the user interface today, just one of hundreds of people Liam oversees on a day-to-day basis.

“Oops! I forgot to introduce you,” Harry apologises.  “Where is my head today?  That’s Valerie Vermouth, Liam’s new administrative assistant.”

“Sorry, I thought you said that girl was Liam’s new administrative assistant.”

Harry looks at Zayn like he’s not the full shilling.  “That’s exactly what I said.”

Zayn keeps calm; there’s no reason to get excited.  (Not yet.)  “Are we talking, like, personal secretary here or just someone who answers the phone for the technology department?”

“She’s administrative assistant to the CTO,” Harry replies more slowly than usual.  “The same position you had.”

It takes a second for it to sink in, that the girl who just left HR is Liam’s _personal secretary_.  When it does, Zayn clears his throat and calmly states:

“Over my dead body.”

Niall guffaws.  “Told you our Zaynie wouldn’t have it,” he tells his boss before turning to Zayn.  “I’ve been dying to ask you how you felt about the arrangement—figured you knew about it though.  Was going to ask you tonight after you had a few drinks in ya, had a feeling you might be jealous.”

“Jealous?” Zayn scoffs.  “Of course I’m not _jealous_.  Why the bloody hell would I be jealous?”  He throws in several more scoffs for good measure.

(Spoiler alert:  he’s totally jealous.  Totally, irrationally jealous—well, maybe ‘irrationally’ is a bad word.  After all, Zayn knows what it’s like to be Liam’s secretary, knows the long hours spent one-on-one.  Heck, this Valerie bird will probably be spending more time with Liam than Zayn does. 

And then there’s a fact that’s extremely difficult to overlook:  Valerie Vermouth is clearly Liam’s type.  And well… _of course_ Zayn’s bloody jealous.

Still, he’d never let _them_ know that.  Never in a million years.)

Miraculously, Niall manages to see through him.  “If you’re not jealous, then why do you look like someone just murdered your favourite childhood pet, eh?”

Zayn wishes he could explain that someone _did_ murder his favourite childhood pet, so in fact, he’s got every right to the sour expression he’s undoubtedly wearing.  Lucky for Waliyha, there are much more pressing matters at hand.

(But man, he really did love that sodding goldfish).

“So when did this happen?” Zayn asks, and he tries not to sound accusing.  After all, he doesn’t know the full story.

Harry blinks innocently, like he hasn’t a damned thing on his conscience besides the one time he bought produce that wasn’t certified organic.  “When did what happen?”

“When was Valerie Vermouth hired?”

“A month ago,” Niall supplies, and he strangely seems to be getting a kick out of all this.  One thing’s for certain:  Zayn’s definitely not buying him that new putter he wants for Christmas.  No fucking way.  The dude’s getting golf balls— _if_ he’s lucky. 

“For the record,” Harry adds, “She’s only been with Liam for two weeks.” 

Two weeks.  Ten business days.  Eighty hours.

 _Eighty_ hours.

It’s probably more than that, too, counting all the overtime.  His husband has stayed late every single night over the past couple of weeks and—

No.  Zayn is _not_ going to let his mind go there.  No fucking way.  They’ve only been married for six months, for crying out loud, and there’s no fucking way Liam would do that to him.  Not now.  (Not ever.)

Harry sighs, and Zayn can tell the man thinks he’s overreacting even though Zayn’s only showing one-tenth of what he’s feeling right now.  “I have to say that I think you’re being unfair to Valerie.”

“I’m sure she’s lovely, Harry,” Zayn says sarcastically.  “I’m just requesting she be lovely with someone else’s husband.”

“Lovely with someone else’s husband!” Niall hoots.  “Nice one!”

Zayn can’t decide who to strangle first—Harry, Niall, or his husband of six months who somehow neglected to mention his secretary position had been filled by a brunette Marilyn Monroe.

 _Two bloody weeks ago_.

But he’ll deal with Liam later.  Right now, he’s trying to suss out why Harry hired this particular girl to be Liam’s _personal secretary_ in the first place.  He’s not letting Niall off the hook either because the man was clearly an accessory after the fact.  But more than that, Zayn’s upset because neither one of them could be arsed to clue him in.

He feels betrayed; Hamlet-level betrayed.  The Danish prince didn’t deserve the next-level treachery dished out to him by two of his closest mates and neither does Zayn.

As a matter of fact, Zayn can barely look Rosencrantz and Guildenstern in the eye right now.

“You’re blowing this way out of proportion,” Harry says critically.  “You’ve nothing to be jealous about.  Liam’s madly in love with you.  And frankly, your being jealous is unfair to him as well.”

Zayn humphs because that’s all well and nice in theory, but this isn’t theory.  This is his life.  This is his _marriage._

“Look,” Harry sighs like he’s reasoning with a child, “I would have absolutely zero qualms if Valerie were Louis’ administrative assistant, and we’re not even married.”

“Excellent,” Zayn snaps, “place her in marketing then.”

“We don’t need her in marketing,” Harry replies patiently, all his HR training clearly coming into play.  “I was merely attempting to point out that you should trust your man like I trust mine.”

Niall snorts.  “Yeah, well, Louis is like 150% gay, isn’t he?  Besides, you do have to admit Valerie is 150% Liam’s type.”

“Niall,” Harry states tersely, “you are not helping.”

“Sorry, gaffer.  Just stating the facts.”

Harry rolls his eyes.  “I hired Valerie to be Liam’s administrative assistant for a reason,” he informs them.  “Liam needs someone who isn’t intimidated by him, someone who can translate his ideas and tech jargon into standard written English, and that’s not as easy to come by as one would think in the present job market.”

Zayn firmly seals his lips together; otherwise, he’s likely to tell Harry exactly what he thinks about the ‘present job market.’ 

Niall is the one to break the tension.  “Harry, don’t you have a date tonight?”

“You’re right—I better finish up that report,” Harry says gratefully, glancing at his watch again.  “Enjoy the pub, lads.  Have a drink for me!”

“Not planning on getting an appletini; sorry, mate,” Niall tosses back, and Zayn chuckles despite himself.  So does Harry.

Zayn loves his mates.  He needs to relax, needs to unwind.  A drink with Niall will help; it always does.

 

£.£.£.

 

A drink with Niall doesn’t help.  Neither do two.  Drink number three comes directly after he texts Liam for the third time without an answer, and drink number four just makes his throat burn with how fast he downs it.

He’s currently nursing drink number five, and he knows he’s proper pissed at this point.  Zayn’s long past wanting to go back to Titan Tower to check up on his husband.  (He’s not certain he could manage the ride in the lift without getting sick anyway.)

He reflects back to earlier in the evening when Niall mentioned how Liam had turned over a new leaf at work.  He thinks about it again, now that Niall’s off to the loo, and he’s left alone at the bar.  The details of the conversation have gone a bit fuzzy, but he remembers how he _felt,_ how his own words braced him when he argued that Liam wasn’t ‘turning over a new leaf’ but peeling away another protective layer of skin.  The way Liam interacted with Zayn’s family from the beginning was proof of that.  Liam had always been so caring.  So helpful.  So loving.

So _Liam_.

The conversation with Niall had helped, and Zayn had felt better…for a time. 

But now it’s nearly nine, and he still hasn’t heard from his husband.  Zayn’s stomach growls, reminding him of their shelved plans for dinner.  Instead, he’s been snacking on soggy olives and mixed nuts for three hours.

He finally gets a reply to his texts:

 

> _Liam: sorry babe should just be a few more minutes x_

 

Zayn orders another drink.

Niall returns to the bar and starts telling him about the fit bird he’s just chatted up in the loo.  (Zayn doesn’t ask.)  After a half hour or so, Liam walks in, and Zayn’s so happy he could cry.

“Leeyum!” he calls, tottering off his stool.  “You found me!”

“You’re sozzled, aren’t you?” Liam asks, and he looks tired— _drained_ , to be precise.  He glances at Niall.  “How many did he have?  Did he eat?”

“Did _you_ eat?” Zayn counters before Niall can respond, and Liam shrugs.  “I’ve got it!” Zayn shouts, snapping his fingers (or trying to anyway).  “We could go to dinner _now_ , Leeyum!”

Liam sighs as he loosens the knot of his tie.  “It’s late, I’m knackered, and you’re pissed.”

Zayn frowns.  “So?”

“So I think we should take a raincheck on those dinner plans, babe.”

Niall pats him on the shoulder.  “He’s probably right, Zaynie.”

Zayn nods unhappily.  Gravity crashes down on him then, and he leans against the bar for support.  He should have stopped before drink number six (or was it seven?).  “So…did you get it all sorted?”

“Huh?” Liam blinks before eventually getting it.  Zayn’s not sure why it took the man so long.  Sure, Zayn’s speech might be slurred but only a little.  “Oh yeah,” Liam recovers.  “Yeah, found the problem, just took a little digging.”

“That’s good.  You’re so clever, Leeyum.  Clever, clever Leeyum.”

Liam raises an eyebrow, and Niall snorts.  “Think that last one did him in,” his friend says.

“You’re telling me,” Liam mutters, and Zayn doesn’t appreciate the fact that they’re talking about him behind his back—well, in front of his back…or something like that. 

“So Liam,” Niall begins casually, “anything new around the office?”  

Zayn gives his friend a death glare.  ‘ _Obvious much?’_ he mouths to Niall, making sure Liam doesn’t see.  The thing is, Zayn’s still hoping Liam will volunteer the information that he got a new secretary…two weeks ago.

“Not really.”  The CTO looks like he’d rather be cleaning out toenail fungus than answering questions about his day. 

“Same old shit, just a different day, eh?” Niall remarks, and Liam forces a smile.  His husband looks off to the left and down, and that’s when Zayn sees it, the clear imprint on his right cheek:

Lipstick.  Copper red lipstick.  The same shade he’d seen Valerie wearing earlier.  It knocks the wind out of him; it sobers him up faster than a cold shower and a black coffee.

Niall sees the lipstick stain on Liam’s cheek, too.  Zayn can tell by the way his friend stiffens, then glances over in Zayn’s direction to make sure he’s okay.

(He isn’t.)

Liam clears his throat.  “Don’t mean to break up the party, but we should probably get going.”  As if on cue, his phone rings.  “I’ll take this outside…it’s less noisy,” he explains, clearly forgetting they’re in the centre of London.  “Meet me out front when you’re ready—no hurry,” he tacks on, and Niall grunts as Liam makes his way outside.

Zayn doesn’t say a word.  He can’t.  Solemnly, he downs the rest of his drink—basically water at this point—and stares blankly at the door.  He tries to gather up the strength to follow Liam, to pretend he didn’t see what he just saw on his husband’s cheek.  He isn’t ready to have this all out right now.

“Once a fuckwit, always a fuckwit,” Niall murmurs under his breath after a minute.  He shoves off the stool and squeezes Zayn’s shoulder.  “Want to crash at my gaff tonight?”

Zayn thinks about it.  It’s tempting (really fucking tempting), but he can’t.  “What would I tell Liam?”

“Tell the fuckwit anything you want.” 

Zayn rolls his eyes.  He wishes it were that easy.  “I can’t—he’s right outside the door.  In fact, I should probably go.  I don’t want to keep him waiting.”

“You mean like he’s kept you waiting all night?”

Zayn’s about to argue that Liam was working, but the excuse dies on his lips.  “I…I should go.  It’s getting late.”

“Alright, if that’s what you want,” Niall relents.  “Oi, you gonna tell him?  Tell him you know, I mean?”

“I don’t know anything, Niall,” Zayn replies, as his heart breaks a little more, “not for certain.”

Niall shakes his head but doesn’t scold him for pretending his marriage isn’t falling apart, for wanting to hold on to the dream a little longer.  “Yeah, well ring me if you need anything, okay?”

“I will,” Zayn says numbly.  He throws down a couple of notes for the tab, then leaves on somewhat steady legs.  He isn’t going to think about Valerie or Titan or copper red lipstick for the rest of the night.

In fact, he isn’t going to think at all.

 

£.£.£.

 

“Babe, not tonight.”

The rejection hits Zayn like a brick as he immediately rolls off his husband.  He can’t recall a time Liam ever turned him away like this, and it _hurts;_ it aches in places he didn’t even know existed.

Liam doesn’t want him. 

Zayn had been foolish, thinking he could make everything okay again with his tongue and his hands.  Maybe it was the alcohol still lingering in his bloodstream that convinced him he could wash away every trace of _her_ if he tried hard enough.

Liam goes to wrap an arm around him, but Zayn pretends not to notice.  He shifts to the very edge of the bed, just beyond his husband’s reach.

Zayn doesn’t need a pity cuddle; he needs Liam to want him again.

(He needs Liam to _love_ him again.)

 

£.£.£.

 

Zayn has never thought of himself as the clingy type, the type to hold on to something even after it’s gone.  He's always been the one to leave first, to avoid messy endings, to never get too involved in the first place.

Of course, he's never seen himself as Mr. Fucking Brightside either, but here he is imagining all sorts of scenarios: Liam and his attractive secretary working late, their hands colliding over a file, the embarrassed laugh, an accidental kiss.  Or even worse, he imagines something more deliberate like a quick fuck.  Liam hikes up her skirt and lays her out over his desk; regret doesn't stain his conscience until after he comes (if at all).

And yeah, Zayn can’t go on like this.

“You have that piece for the newsletter yet?” Louis asks, sticking his head in Zayn’s office.  There’s just the slightest hint of impatience in his voice which is admirable since he’s been waiting most of the morning for Zayn to get his shit together. 

Unfortunately, Zayn’s distracted.  He can usually push through, but not today.  “Sorry, man.  I’ve writer’s block, I think.”

Louis strolls in and sits on the edge of Zayn’s desk.  “You look like a zombie, mate.”

“Cheers.”

“Nah, I didn’t mean all manky and shite,” Louis clarifies, messing about with every item on Zayn’s desk like a ten-year-old.  “No, I mean you look sort of…dead inside.”

“Didn’t sleep well,” Zayn mumbles, and it’s not a lie.

Louis nods understandingly.  “Why don’t you skive off for an hour or so?” he suggests.  “Go grab an early lunch with that fit husband of yours and get your mind off work.”

“What about the article?”

“Fuck it.  I’ll just recycle something from the file,” Louis says breezily, and Zayn is sure this man is an actual fucking saint.

Zayn follows Louis’ advice to the letter.  He leaves straightaway and takes the lift upstairs.  He’s already on Liam’s floor when he remembers he forgot to let Liam know he was coming up.  It seems ridiculous to do it at this point though, now that he’s almost there.

(If Zayn has any other reason for not ringing ahead, he’s not admitting it to himself.)

He doesn't know what he was expecting to see at noon on a Thursday, but everything seems reassuringly ordinary in the CTO’s new offices.  There’s a secretary in the outer-outer office now as well as several techies.  In fact, the adjoining offices are teeming with tech staff, several of whom recognise Zayn.  He exchanges a “good morning” or other pleasantry with them, and then moves on until he passes through the last set of glass doors.  A small but modern reception area welcomes him, and sat at the lone desk is the infamous Valerie Vermouth. 

She immediately stops what she’s doing and smiles up at him.  “Do you have an appointment, sir?” she asks before her eyes sparkle with recognition.  “Oh!  Weren’t you in Mr. Styles’ office the other day?”

It takes a second for Zayn to respond because she’s wearing that copper red lipstick again, the same shade he spied on Liam’s cheek yesterday.  “Yes…yes, that was me.”

“You must work in HR, then?”

Zayn shakes his head.  “Marketing and Public Relations.  I’m, uh, head waiter.”

“Head _waiter_?”

“Writer,” Zayn corrects, mentally kicking himself.  He needs to stop gaping at the girl’s lipstick and focus because he’s making a terrible impression.  (Not that he’s trying to impress the girl who is allegedly having an affair with his husband, but….)

“You’re a writer?” she questions, clearly delighted.  “English was always my favourite subject at school—I’m Valerie, by the way,” she adds seamlessly into her steady chatter.  “Valerie Vermouth.  I almost thought about becoming a teacher once but changed my mind; you know how it is,” she tells him with a flip of her wrist.  It’s like they’ve been friends for years.  (And if nothing else, Zayn at least now knows why Harry assigned this girl to Liam.) 

“So!”  She clasps her hands together excitedly.  “What do you write?  Maybe I’ve read some of your stuff?”

“You probably have,” Zayn answers wryly.  “I write the majority of the press releases and feature articles for Titan.”

She giggles.  “Well, if you ever publish anything not Titan-related, Mr. Head Waiter,” she cracks, winking at him, “let me know.  So how can I help you, Mister...?”

“Malik-Payne.”

Valerie can’t hide her surprise.  He would suspect she didn’t know Liam was married if it weren’t for the CTO’s hard-to-miss, posh-as-fuck wedding band.  Reflexively, Zayn looks down at his own ring.  He almost wants to flaunt it in her face, just to make sure she gets it:  Liam is taken.

As if on cue, the CTO strides out of his office.  He stops in his tracks when he spots Zayn.  _He’s_ surprised, too, and yeah, Zayn doesn’t generally just pop up here without texting first, but they've worked in the same bloody building for _months_ now.  

Liam exchanges a quick glance with his secretary.  “Zayn, what are you doing here?”

“I…uh…wanted to see if you had time to grab lunch.”

Liam wrings his hands, then quickly folds them behind his back (but not soon enough).  “Wish I could, babe, but—”

“No, it’s fine,” Zayn cuts him off, and he’s fighting back tears now.  “I should’ve called first,” he acknowledges.  There’s a painful veracity in his words even as he tries to sound upbeat.  “Well, I better run if I want to beat the lunch rush.  Nice meeting you…again, Miss Vermouth.”

“Likewise,” she replies, sounding a little confused.

Zayn practically bolts back to the lift.  Somehow he manages to keep it together until he reaches Louis’ office.  Thankfully, he doesn’t have to say a word.  His boss takes one look at his tortured appearance, then tells him to take the afternoon off.

Zayn follows Louis’ advice to the letter.

It’s only when he’s back at the flat and curled up in bed that he’s able to face the cold, hard truth:  Liam’s cheating on him.  Zayn's resigned to it now. 

Zayn saw the guilt written on every line of his husband’s face.  It couldn’t have been any clearer.  But more than that, as he watched Liam wring his hands, Zayn saw something that made his heart stop. 

Or more precisely, it was what he _didn’t_ see.

He didn’t see a ring.  The ring Liam had on that morning when they left the flat together.  The ring Liam never takes off (or so Zayn thought).

Liam wasn’t wearing his wedding ring, and really, that’s all Zayn needs to know.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...thoughts? I was nervous about posting this for obvious reasons. If you get a chance, please let me know which part(s) you liked best.
> 
> The next one will be the final chapter (ughhh) and will pick up where this one left off. Much love! ~Maree xx


	11. Epilogue: Part 4 (in which everything goes to pot)

 

[ _ _How to tell if he’s cheating on you__ ]

[ _ _Signs your husband is having an affair__ ]

[ _ _Signs your husband no longer loves you__ ]

 

Zayn refocuses his eyes.  He’s been sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed, staring at his laptop screen for hours.  He unfolds his legs and tries to ignore the cramp in his calf as he looks at his screen again.  The cursor blinks expectantly.  He sucks in a breath, lets it out, then backspaces to clear the search bar.  His first two searches have already messed with his head enough, and he just can’t go there.  Not yet.

He shuts his laptop and shoves it under the bed and out of sight.

After all, things have gotten better.  (They haven’t gotten worse anyhow.)  Liam’s been wearing his ring.  As a matter of fact, if Zayn hadn’t seen him that day at work without it, he’d never have known his husband took it off in the first place.

And maybe that’s what has been keeping Zayn up at night, the fact that Liam wasn’t wearing his wedding ring _at work_.  It makes Zayn wonder if he had interrupted something when he showed up unannounced at the CTO’s office.

It makes Zayn wonder about a lot of things.

A small part of him wants to confront Liam and see what happens.  The thing is, he’s been hoping Liam will come to him first and admit he’s made a terrible mistake. 

Liam will say he loves him.  He’ll say he’s choosing Zayn and Zayn alone.

It’s probably (definitely) pathetic, but Zayn hopes Liam will come to his senses.  Maybe his husband hasn’t actually cheated on him yet.  Maybe it’s just a meaningless flirtation, an ego boost.  Maybe it’s all smoke and no fire. 

(Maybe Liam doesn’t love her, not really.)

Zayn’s heart keeps telling him that it won’t be the same if he confronts Liam, if he forces him into a corner.  Because if Zayn were to ask his husband directly and Liam lied to his face, well…he’s pretty sure they’d never be able to get past that. 

 _Zayn_ would never be able to get past that.

So he waits.  Waits for Liam to do the right thing.  Waits for Liam to do _anything_ just so he doesn’t have to make a decision.

Days pass.  Then a week.  Liam’s working constantly now—well, he stays in his Titan Tower office constantly anyway, returning home well after ten most nights.  By the end of the week, Zayn’s tired of waiting.  He hasn’t given up on his marriage yet though.  No, he’s decided to fight.  They can get counselling; they can work through this. 

He just hopes it’s not too late.

 

£.£.£

 

“I want a transfer.”

Zayn sits back and waits for an intelligible response from his HR Director, but Harry is just gawking at him across the desk like a bloody halibut.

Zayn had requested a private meeting with Harry in his office, so he doesn’t know what the man was expecting.  Harry couldn’t have assumed this was just a run-of-the-mill conversation with a good mate and fellow employee.  Still, Zayn’s straight-to-the-point statement—something he’s undoubtedly picked up from Liam—seems to have blindsided the HR Director.

Harry groans and rubs his temples as if he’s got a migraine.  After a few seconds, he gives a long-suffering sigh.  “What did he do?”

“Who?”

“Louis, of course.  Who else?”

“S’got nowt to do with Louis,” Zayn mumbles, picking at a loose thread on his sleeve.

“Then why do you want a transfer?” Harry asks, nonplussed.  “You’re head writer, Zayn, and you’re doing a proper good job of it, too.”

“Cheers.”

“So what did Louis do?”

“Flippin’ eck, ‘arry!” Zayn explodes.  “It’s got nowt to do with Louis so mebbe quit askin’ cuz ah’m getting reight mardy, eh?”

Harry stares at him and Zayn stares out the window at the building across the street.  His leg jitters, and he wishes he were anywhere besides this office.  But most of all, he wishes Harry would quit looking at him like _that_. 

“What’s going on?” Harry demands finally.  “I can barely understand you, so I know you’re really bothered about something.”

Zayn closes his eyes and breathes in through his nose.  “I would like to request a transfer,” he says calmly and in his best received pronunciation.  “That better?”

“Not really.  I still don’t understand why—”

“Do you reckon you could act less like my mate and more like my HR Director for once?” Zayn gripes, a little harsher than intended.

Harry’s lips form a thin line.  When he speaks again, it’s in his most professional tone.  “This is an official request?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t talk you out of it?”

“No.”

If Harry is narked by Zayn’s clipped answers, he doesn’t say so, just opens a document on his computer.  “Why are you wanting to transfer positions within Titan, Mr. Malik?”

“Because I want a change, like I said.”

“Are you requesting a lateral transfer?” Harry inquires with forced politeness as his fingers flit across the keyboard.  “Please note that if you are seeking a promotion, you would have to speak to your direct supervisor, Louis Tomlinson, first.”

“Yeah, it’s definitely not a promotion, mate.”

Harry arches one eyebrow, then goes back to typing.  “Was there a particular timeframe you had in mind, Mr. Malik?”

It takes everything within him not to blurt out _three weeks ago_.  Instead, he grunts, “as soon as bloody possible please.”

“Which departments or positions would you be most interested in?”

Zayn clears his throat.  “I want my old job back—administrative assistant to the CTO.”

Harry stops typing immediately.  “Okay, what the crumpet is going on?”

Zayn is tempted to confess everything right there and then, but he knows Harry won’t get it.  It’s true that he has confided in Harry in the past, but this time just feels… _different_.  It’s too personal and Harry’s too involved, what with hiring the girl and all.  Besides, Zayn is worried Harry might inadvertently say something to Liam, and Zayn doesn’t want that.

Zayn forces out a laugh and gets to his feet.  “I was just taking the piss, bro!” he says with more enthusiasm than was probably needed.  “Wanted to see how you’d react if I asked for a daft transfer.”

Harry looks more relieved than cheesed off, and Zayn is definitely thankful for that.  “Some of us have work to do, you duffer,” he scolds lightly before narrowing his eyes.  “Hey, did Louis put you up to this?”

“Of course not,” Zayn replies, but he can tell Harry doesn’t believe him, not completely.  At first, he feels bad for getting Louis in trouble with his boyfriend, but then Zayn is pummelled with flashbacks of airport security checks and sexy secretary costumes, and well…

Maybe Zayn doesn’t feel _all_ that bad.

 

£.£.£.

 

The next day is Saturday and Zayn is determined to make things right again.

Unfortunately, by the time he wakes up around half ten, Liam is already at work.  It’s not all that surprising: the CTO has worked most Saturdays since the dawn of time.  Because it’s Saturday, however, it means there’s a good chance Liam will be getting off earlier than later which means there’s a decent chance Zayn could be getting off earlier than later.

The fact is, Zayn misses being with his husband.  Nothing else compares and maybe that’s another thing that scares him, that he’ll be sexually frustrated for the rest of his life.  Fuck, he can’t even get off with his hand anymore.  Yes, there have been some nights in the recent past that ended in quick, needy hand jobs at two in the morning, but not for a couple of weeks at least.

And well, Zayn can’t even remember the last time they made love.

_Then again, maybe it wasn’t as good for Liam as it was for Zayn.  Maybe that’s why Liam had to look elsewhere…._

He blocks that thought out before it does irreparable damage to his psyche.  Instead, he makes himself a cuppa, then rings his mum.  He asks her for a recipe, the one Liam raved about on their last trip to Bradford.  Zayn doesn’t specify why he wants it, just says he fancies doing something special for his husband.  (She’d be gutted if she suspected there was even a hint of trouble in paradise.)  Then, he spends the afternoon tidying up the flat and shopping.

When he returns to the flat, he puts up the groceries, then creates a romantic table setting—candles, rose petals, and all.  He texts Liam to find out what time he’s coming home, then starts supper.  Zayn smiles when he sees his husband plans to return before six.  That should give him just enough time to prepare everything just so.

It turns out to be _more_ than enough time.  In fact, Liam’s still a no-show at eight, and now Zayn is worried that his steak, ale, and mushroom pie is going to be ruined if his husband takes much longer.  Zayn rings Liam’s mobile but it goes to voicemail.  He sighs, then tries Liam’s direct line at Titan, the one that goes straight to the CTO’s desk. 

The one that Valerie Vermouth answers.  After eight.  On a Saturday night.

Zayn hangs up without saying a word.  He removes the other place setting, then eats silently, robotically.  He can tell the pie has been cooked perfectly, but it tastes like sawdust in his mouth.  Liam sends a text saying he’ll be home late, and Zayn’s tempted to text back something snarky, something like _‘no shit, Sherlock,’_ but he doesn’t. 

Honestly, he can’t be bothered.

When he’s finished, he washes the dishes and puts everything away.  He covers the rest of the pie with cling wrap and leaves a note for Liam to let him know there’s food in the fridge.  He makes sure to collect every rose petal until the only thing that remains is a sweet, lingering perfume.  He ponders if that’s what his time with Liam will feel like one day.

Then he goes to bed.

 

£.£.£.

 

Liam goes in to work again on Sunday because of course he does.  Zayn doesn’t bother getting dressed, doesn’t even bother to shave or take a shower.  He just kicks around the flat in his ratty old pyjamas.  (There’s no one to see him anyway.)

When he wanders into the kitchen around noon, he finds a note on the table next to the one he left for Liam:

 

> _Pie was delishious babe! sorry I was late :(_

 

Zayn leaves it there and makes himself a bowl of cereal without the milk.  He’s long past trying anymore. 

(He wishes he were long past caring, but he isn’t.  Not yet.)

 

£.£.£.

 

“Valerie said the funniest thing the other day—”

Zayn’s fork clatters to the ground and Liam chuckles like it’s no big deal, like it’s just an accident and not a natural reaction to being punched hard in the gut. 

A smile teases at his husband’s lips.  “Remember when you spilled coffee all over your shirtfront on your first day?” he reminisces, looking down and to the left in that soft, familiar way of his.  “I was so mad at you because all I could think about was how much I wanted to rip your shirt off right there, secretary or not.”

It should make Zayn feel better, that Liam is trying to hold a conversation with him, that the man just admitted to being attracted to him (at one point anyway).  If this were a month ago, Zayn might have chuckled along with Liam at the memory.  Now however, all he can manage is a feeble twitch of his lips.  He doesn’t want to talk about Valerie or about how Liam apparently has a thing for ‘sexy secretaries.’ 

He doesn’t want to talk about that at all.

Zayn picks his fork up from off the floor and places it at the edge of the table.  He’s not sure why he bothered to get silverware out when they’re just having takeaway.  He grabs a plastic spoon from the bag and flips open a tub of coleslaw with his thumbnail.  (And yes, coleslaw probably wouldn’t be his first choice when it comes to drowning his sorrows, but it’ll have to do for now.)

“Hey, save some for me!” Liam yaps from across the table, elbow-deep in a bucket of chicken.  “I was gonna give you two wings and two legs…unless you want a breast instead?”

Zayn shakes his head.  “Nah, you take ‘em.  You like breasts way better than I do.”  He stops when he realises what he’s just said, but Liam doesn’t seem to have noticed as he continues dividing the pieces onto two plates.

“Yeah, so as I was saying,” Liam starts again, “Valerie said the funniest—”

Zayn bolts up.  “You know…I’m not really hungry,” he blurts out a little shakily.  He grabs the dirty fork and stumbles towards the sink.  It’s Sunday, the only day his husband has gotten home at a semi-respectable time in the past week, and five minutes after they’ve sat down, Liam has to go and bring _her_ up.

_Twice._

“You upset because I mentioned work?” Liam asks.  “I know I promised not to—”

“Yeah, you promised a lot of things, didn’t you?” Zayn tosses back bitterly.  Then, it’s as if the weight of his own words hit him: the broken promises, broken vows.  His knees buckle.  He clutches on to the edge of the sink and tries to breathe.  He feels off balance, but there’s nothing and no one to steady him anymore.

There’s only the empty ache within him and the stinging reminder that Liam’s found someone new, that Liam’s _replaced_ him.

Because it’s only a matter of time now.  Zayn can tell.  They can’t go on like this forever, like two strangers living under the same roof.

Liam touches his arm, and Zayn flinches.  It’s an automatic response: he didn’t even realise Liam had risen from the table.  When he sees the hurt and confusion on his husband’s face, Zayn wishes he could take it back, wishes he could find the words to tell Liam to touch him again, to hold him, to anchor him like he used to, but it’s too late.  The damage has already been done. 

Liam steps back, leaving a gaping space between them.  “What’s the matter with you lately?”

Zayn doesn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or scream.  “I don’t know, Liam,” he deadpans.  “You tell me: What _is_ the matter with me lately?”  He chokes back the next question on the tip of his tongue:  _Why am I not enough?_

The heaviness stretches to almost toxic levels.  It suffuses the flat, infecting every corner.  It’s a silent stand-off filled with stubborn passions.  For some reason, it reminds Zayn of when his mum used to trick Wali and him into playing ‘the invisible game’ to get them to quit bickering on car rides, except now the stakes are much higher.

They’re sky-high.

Liam and him, they’re close to a breaking point.  They’re close to a point of no return.  Somehow, a line in the sand has been drawn, and Zayn has no fucking idea how they got here.  He just knows that with one wrong move, with one strong tide of emotions, that everything they’ve built together could be washed away.

And he doesn’t want that to happen, but he doesn’t know how to stop it either.

“I’ll be in the study,” Liam mutters and some of the tension ebbs away.

Zayn snorts.  “Of course you will.”

“What’s that supposed to—?”

“Nothing, Liam,” Zayn snaps, brushing angrily past his husband to start clearing the table.  “It means piss-all.”

 

£.£.£.

 

The bedroom door squeaks open at three in the morning, and Liam gently slides into bed beside him.

“I’m sorry, babe,” Liam whispers to his back as Zayn pretends to be asleep.  Zayn braces himself and waits for Liam to go on, to explain just what he’s apologising for.

But he doesn’t.

Liam just hovers there, breath ghosting over the nape of Zayn’s neck as the seconds tick by.  Soon, nothing seems to matter but the closeness of his husband, the way the man fills his senses without even trying.  Zayn wants to turn around, wants to bury his head into the crook of Liam’s neck and breathe him in.

But he doesn’t.

He lays still, silent.  His body burns for Liam’s touch; his mind longs for Liam to whisper sweet nothings he may or may not mean.  Zayn just wants Liam to hold him, to comfort him, to make love to him, to fuck him, to _use_ him.  He’d take any and all of the above.  He just needs to feel _something_ inside these four walls again.  

But then Liam’s gone.  His husband rolls back over to the other side of the bed, so near and yet so far, and Zayn’s left feeling unfulfilled.  There’s a hollowness that has taken up permanent residence in his heart now, but it’s okay…mostly. 

It’s only horrible when he thinks about it. 

(He thinks about it all the time.)

 

£.£.£.

 

Things get better (or he gets better at dealing with them).  Another week passes, and Zayn hasn’t thrown a single wobbler.  He figures that even if Liam has already made up his mind, Zayn’s not going to give him a reason to leave, not if he can help it.  Zayn can go on acting like they’re flatmates; he’s done it before.

After all, he hardly sees Liam anyway.

The only thing that really hurts is that they’ve stopped saying “I love you.”  Zayn isn’t sure exactly when it happened or who stopped saying the words first, but now it’s like a silent contract between them.  (And lord knows they’re both proper good at adhering to contracts.)

They need to have a real discussion, need to figure out where they stand.  He knows this, yet he’s always making excuses to himself (and to Niall) for why he hasn’t initiated anything: it wasn’t a good day, Liam looked worn-out, or it was too late.  The truth is he’s scared to death to broach the subject because he knows it could mean the end, and he’s still praying for a miracle.

But right now, he’s just trying to read.  It isn’t easy because Liam’s actually home for once—well, he _was_ home.  His husband left the flat about five minutes ago for the gym on the ground floor.  It seems that even when they’re in the same building, they’re hardly ever on the same floor.  (Zayn’s certain there’s a good metaphor in there somewhere, but he’s not up to pinning it down.)

The door opens, and Zayn glances up from his book to see Liam re-enter the flat, black gym bag slung over his shoulder.  “Forget something?”

“No,” Liam answers, closing the door behind him.  He drops his bag down on the floor and nudges it into the corner with his foot.

“Thought you planned to work out?”

“I…uh…yeah,” Liam says evasively.  “I changed my mind.”

And that’s strange.  Liam never misses a workout—well, he didn’t used to anyway.  Lately, the CTO has been ‘working’ so much that he’s missed several.  Still, Zayn can’t remember a time Liam ever went to the trouble of putting on his gym clothes and lacing up his trainers before deciding to pack it in.

“You changed your mind after getting dressed?” Zayn asks, trying to sound disinterested.  He doesn’t want to let on what he’s thinking, that his husband’s guilty conscience might be interfering with his normal routine.

“Nah, think I’ve got flu or something,” Liam replies, and Zayn sets his book down beside him on the couch, concern now trumping all other emotions.  Liam _does_ look poorly, now that Zayn gets a proper look at him.  There are bags under his eyes, and maybe it’s just the lighting, but his colour appears to be a bit off as well.

Again, a nagging voice inside his head tells him it’s probably guilt, but Zayn ignores it (or tries to).

“Want me to fix you something to eat, babe?” Zayn offers, but Liam grimaces.  “A hot toddy maybe?”

Liam shakes his head.  “Think I’ll have a lie down, then finish the presentation for the monthly exec meeting tomorrow.”  Liam slides a hand through his messy hair and yawns.  “You’re gonna be there with Louis, right?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there.”  He hesitates briefly before asking a question he probably shouldn’t.  “Leeyum…didn’t you say that you were planning to finish that presentation during work today?”

Liam squints as if having to recall something he’d said that morning was a chore for him.  “Oh yeah.  I was tied up with…other things.”

And Zayn doesn’t ask.  He doesn’t want to know what—or who—his husband was tied up with that prevented him from getting necessary work done.

“You need sleep, Liam,” he says instead.  “You look dead knackered.”  Zayn rises from the couch to give his husband a routine peck on the lips.  Just before he does, Liam holds up a hand.

“Probably shouldn’t,” Liam warns, taking a step back.  “I mean, if it is flu, I don’t want you to get sick, too.”

_Oh._

Suddenly, it all makes sense.  The flu thing was just an excuse, a ‘nicer’ way for Liam to reject him.  A million jolts of pain shock Zayn’s heart back to life, and it’s the cruellest punishment he can imagine.  It was so much easier when he felt dead inside.  “If you’re so contagious,” he tells Liam, voice dripping with hurt and sarcasm he doesn’t even try to conceal, “maybe you should sleep in the guest room.”

Liam searches his eyes, and Zayn looks away.  “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea,” his husband agrees wearily.  He mumbles a goodnight, then heads straight for the guest room that used to be Zayn’s bedroom during their fake relationship days.  Neither one of them has slept in that room since the day of Walter’s big party, the day they broke off their fake engagement.

That was one year and seven months ago.

Zayn retires to their bedroom.  He forgets his book on the couch—not that it matters.  He doesn’t remember what he was reading, couldn’t focus on it even if he tried.  His gaze lands on his husband’s side of the bed, and the pain returns, stronger than ever.  It’s almost as if his heart is physically being ripped in two.

It’s almost as if Liam’s already left him.  (In a way, he probably has.)

 

£.£.£.

 

When Zayn awakens the next morning, the pain from last night has dulled down to a numb ache.  He gets up without glancing at the other side of the bed, brushes his teeth, and goes down the hall to make sure Liam isn’t still asleep.  But when he peeks into the guest bedroom, Liam isn’t there.  Instead, Zayn finds him in the office, apparently finishing the presentation for the exec meeting later that morning.

“Did you sleep last night?” Zayn reprimands from the doorway, and his husband jumps.

“Huh? Sorry?” 

Liam looks like shit—that’s the first thing he notices.  The second thing he notices is the empty coffee mug sitting beside the two Red Bulls on the desk.  And yeah, that’s not like Liam at all.

“Maybe you should stay home today,” Zayn suggests carefully, “get some rest.”

Liam stares at him as if he’s speaking in tongues.  “Why?”

Zayn sighs.  “Maybe you’ve got flu, like you said.”

“I’m fine,” Liam insists, saving what he was working on before rising out of his chair.  “I just need a shower, that’s all.”

Zayn doesn’t bother arguing with the man; he’d never win anyway.

 

£.£.£.

 

Zayn is dreading the monthly exec meeting.  He’s not technically an executive officer at Titan, so he’s not sure why he has to go except everyone seems to want him there (Walters included).  Louis’ justification for dragging him along is that Zayn is better at taking notes and that it saves him the trouble of summarising the information later; however, Zayn suspects it has more to do with the fact that his presence allows the Director of Marketing to zone out on what he refers to as the “boring bits” of the meeting, basically when anyone besides Harry—and maybe Walters—is speaking.

Candidly, Zayn doesn’t really mind attending the monthly exec meeting.  He just minds that his husband is going to be there…and that an audience of their friends and co-workers will be observing how they interact (or don’t interact) with each other.

Zayn’s game plan is simple: arrive as late as possible and don’t sit by Liam.

When Louis stops by his office before the meeting, Zayn tells his boss to go on ahead, that he’ll meet him there.  Zayn shoots up to the boardroom just before ten, and he’s relieved to find that Louis has saved him a seat towards the head of the table.  Liam, on the other hand, is sat next to Harry about halfway down on the other side.

Zayn gives a generic hand wave to the entire table as he takes his seat next to Louis.  He silently celebrates his success as Walters commences the meeting less than a minute later.  He’s still chuffed with himself when he notices it: Valerie is at the meeting, too.  She’s sat next to Liam, hand on his arm as she whispers something in his ear, and Zayn sort-of wants to scratch her eyes out.

Louis nudges him, and Zayn forces himself to pay attention to what Walters is saying about creating a “conscious culture through conscious leadership,” but he can’t.  It’s an idea he could really sink his teeth into normally, but he just can’t concentrate with what’s happening further on down the table.  He keeps glancing back at Liam and Valerie.  She no longer has her hand on his arm, but the fact that she’s there in the first place is distracting as fuck.

He’s almost relieved when Liam gets up to present his portion of the meeting because it means the CTO will no longer be sitting next to his attractive secretary.  On the flipside, it also means Liam will be standing a few feet away from him.

Liam gets up slowly, labouredly.  The CTO almost appears nervous which is completely unlike the man (if Zayn even knows who Liam is anymore).  As Liam powers on the projector, Zayn notices a few beads of perspiration lining his brow.

Liam starts speaking, and it’s not in his usual fast and easy manner.  It’s like every word is an effort even though he tries to hide it.  Zayn scans the table and no one else seems to notice; all eyes are glued to the screen as Liam narrates and clicks through the slides.  At the end of the slideshow, someone asks the CTO to define a ‘zero-day flaw.'  It’s not a difficult question—Zayn could almost bullshit an answer based on his limited knowledge—but Liam doesn’t respond.  He looks confused, unfocused. 

Instinct tells Zayn that something’s off even before he sees his husband’s eyes roll back.  He lunges out of his chair and catches Liam’s head just before it hits the ground.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked that one even though it was probably painful to read. (Believe me, it was even more painful to write, lol.) I've been simultaneously working on the very last chapter and the ending's done, so I'm crossing my fingers that I'll be able to finish it in a week or so. (FYI: There won't be an update for TNT next week because I want to finish this first.) Let me know what you thought about this chapter if you get a chance and please feel free to scream at me about the cliffhanger. ;) 
> 
> Finally, THANK YOU for all your feedback and for getting this fic to 600 kudos (omg?)! I've been struggling a little lately so seeing all the love on my stories has meant more than you'll ever know. Much love! ~Maree xx


	12. Epilogue: Part 5 (in which it's always darkest before dawn)

 

There’s a moment of stunned silence before well-meaning chaos erupts in the boardroom.  After a minute, however, Walters has taken charge and cleared the room, Harry has dialled 999, and Louis has bleated out “holy fucking shit” twenty-six times and counting.

And Zayn…well, all Zayn can give a flying fuck about at the moment is whether Liam is going to be okay.  He’s strangely calm as he unbuttons Liam’s collar and loosens his tie, the Burberry rose check that suits him so well.  Zayn’s surprised he hadn’t notice it earlier, but it’s been hard to look— _really_ look—at his husband lately.

“Is he awake yet?” Harry calls out, phone plastered to his ear.

Zayn shakes his head.  

“Breathing?  Pulse?”

Zayn checks for both before giving Harry a nod.  He then lays a hand on his husband’s forehead.  It feels clammy and feverish; Liam’s complexion, pallid with that yellowish tinge Zayn first detected last night. 

“They said to prop up his legs,” Harry relays, and Louis quickly grabs a couple of laptop cases for the purpose. 

Liam’s eyelids twitch, and Louis shouts something to Harry.  Zayn keeps talking to his husband, repeating his name.  Liam is barely responsive: his eyes open once or twice, but his pupils can’t seem to focus on anything or anyone.  It’s almost impossible to imagine that the man lying on the floor just delivered a detailed presentation to a roomful of executives. 

Walters arrives with the paramedics, and Zayn has to stand back to let them work.  It’s probably the hardest thing he’s ever had to do in his life.

 

£.£.£.

 

As it turns out, Liam does have flu.

His main diagnosis, however, is exhaustion.  According to the doctors, Liam’s also severely dehydrated, something exacerbated by his “kidney condition.”  Zayn politely asks what the fuck they’re talking about and gets a less-than-stellar answer.  Apparently, Liam has a dodgy kidney—or used to have one.  Zayn doesn’t quite understand the explanation, but he _does_ understand that his husband should have bloody told him about a bloody “kidney condition” before he ended up in hospital.

Zayn offers to donate one or both of his kidneys, but the doctors assure him it won’t be necessary, that Liam mostly requires rest, fluids, and electrolytes.  Zayn wishes they’d reconsider because he’d much rather donate a few random vital organs than wait for Liam to sleep it off.  At least he’d feel like he was doing something then.  (Besides, he’s only about seventy-two percent confident in the doctors after listening to a bunch of waffling about a magical kidney which disappears and reappears at will and now isn’t working at “full capacity.”)

Zayn feels guilty, feels like he should have noticed the symptoms.  Maybe he should have googled _“signs your husband is suffering from exhaustion”_ rather than _“signs your husband is having an affair.”_

That’s exactly what he’s thinking when he spots Valerie lurking at the door.  He’s furious when he sees her, wants to tell her she’s got no right to be there.  At this point, he doesn’t know what to think about anything, but he’s certain she’s the very last person he wants to see in Liam’s _private_ hospital room (or anywhere else for that matter). 

Luckily, Niall’s there with him.  “I think it might be better if you wait outside,” the Irishman advises her curtly.  He adds something about “friends and family only,” and Zayn decides right then and there that he’s getting Niall a putter _and_ a driver for Christmas. 

Fuck, he might even throw in a whole new golf bag for good measure.

 

£.£.£.

 

Liam is still asleep a few hours later when Harry swaps places with his secretary.  There’s definitely a shift in atmosphere when he arrives, and it makes sense.  Harry loves Liam almost as much as Zayn does; he’s known Liam for even longer.

Harry takes one look at Zayn, pats him on the back in an unspoken show of fraternity, and flops into the chair next to him.  They sit in silence as seconds stretch into minutes and minutes stretch into an hour.  The only sounds come from the rhythmic beeping and buzzing of the machines, the quick footsteps and squeaking trolleys in the corridor. 

Zayn can’t shake the nervous jitter in his bones no matter which way he positions himself.  He’s just gotten relatively comfortable when someone comes in to check on Liam again.  She asks the same questions they all do, makes a few notes on the chart, smiles, and leaves. 

Harry clears his throat.  “You two have been going through a rough patch, haven’t you?”

Zayn’s not sure if he’s more startled by the question or by the fact that one of them actually spoke.  “I wouldn’t….”  He bites the inside of his cheek, then decides there’s no point in trying to hide it anymore (not to Harry at any rate).  “How could you tell?”

“Several things,” he answers in that deliberate, thoughtful way of his, “but mostly because Liam told me.”

“Oh.”  Zayn swallows nervously.  “What…did he say?”

“That’s literally all I could get out of him, mate,” Harry sighs.  “I’ve a feeling that’s all I’ll get out of you, too.”  Zayn doesn’t answer, and Harry shakes his head.  “Go get some air or food or something, yeah?  You look like you’re about to drop yourself.  There’s a café a few floors below.”

“But—”

“I’ll text you if it looks like he’s waking up.  _Go._ ” 

Zayn doesn’t really want to leave, but it’s not like Harry’s leaving him with much choice.

And he could _really_ use a cup of coffee.

The moment he steps into the large café, however, he wishes he would have objected a little more strongly because Valerie is there, eating with a doctor.  And because Zayn has the worst bloody luck ever, she spies him at the precise time he sees her.

She waves wildly to get his attention and when he doesn’t budge, she hurdles towards him like a force of nature.  “How is he?” she asks more breathlessly than usual.  Her voice is full of concern, and really, that just makes it worse, the fact that she obviously _cares_ about Liam.

“Why don’t you ask the doctor you’re with?” he manages, darting a glance at the table she just left.  “I’m sure she’s already given you an update anyway.”  He brushes past her to get the damn coffee he came down here for.  He needs it more than ever now.

Valerie looks downright baffled as she glances back at the woman in the lab coat.  “But she’s a paediatrician—well, will be soon.”

Now it’s Zayn’s turn to be baffled.  He can’t figure out why Liam’s secretary is faffing about eating lunch with paediatricians when she could be back at work (or anywhere that isn’t directly in Zayn’s line of vision). 

“Please, Mr. Malik-Payne.  Could you just tell me—”

“Why are you here?” Zayn seethes.  He’d been trying to hold it back, but he can’t any longer.  Her audacity is driving him up a fucking wall.

“Sorry?”

“Why. Are. You. Here?” Zayn repeats through clenched teeth.

Her face scrunches up.  “I’m not sure what you mean.  I was waiting for an update, having lunch with my wife, and—”

“Y-your wife?” Zayn stammers, and suddenly he feels as if his legs are going to give way.

“Are you alright?” Valerie asks, grabbing his arm, and he nods uncertainly.  “Here, why don’t you sit down a minute, Mr. Malik-Payne?  You’ve had an awful morning.”  She leads him over to her table, and he collapses into a chair.

“This is my wife, Clara,” Valerie announces, still standing.  “Clara, this is—”

“Zayn,” he finishes off, shaking the young doctor’s hand because he might be reeling in shock, but he’s not a complete dick.  “I’m Liam’s husband.”  He studies the woman then for any signs of tension or jealousy, but his disclosure only makes her face soften with kindness.

“It’s nice to meet you, Zayn,” Clara says with genuine warmth, “even though I wish it could be under a different set of circumstances, of course.”  She places her hand on top of her wife’s, and he notes that neither one of them is wearing a ring. 

“Nice to meet you,” Zayn returns automatically.  He glances back and forth between the two women, wondering if this is some type of setup.  His mind races with suspicions.  Having faked an engagement himself, he’s naturally sceptical about ‘convenient’ relationships.

“Can I get you something?” Valerie offers.  “Tea or coffee maybe?”

“Coffee,” Zayn croaks out.  “Coffee would be lovely,” he adds, remembering himself.

“I’ll be back in a tick,” she replies before dashing off towards the counter.  He didn’t even get a chance to tell her how he takes it, not that he’s particularly fussy right now.

He looks across the table at Clara.  She’s a striking woman: tall with dark eyes and dark complexion, sharp features, and the hint of a German accent. 

“Valerie has told me you are a writer.  Also, that you work for Titan, yes?” she observes casually, and now Zayn’s trying to suss out when he stepped into a different dimension.  Perhaps, he’s suffering from exhaustion, too.

“I, uh…yeah,” he says dumbly.

Clara reaches over and pats his shoulder sympathetically.  “You don’t have to talk; I know you must be concerned about your husband.  Please do make sure you are taking care of yourself though.”

Zayn nods weakly in return. 

A minute later, Valerie returns with a coffee and a donut and sets both down in front of him.  “Saw they had the kind with sprinkles,” she explains excitedly as she sits down.  “Liam’s told me that’s your absolute favourite at least a dozen times—oh, but don’t feel like you have to eat it,” she rushes to add.  “I just thought you might—”

“It was sweet of you; cheers,” he interrupts her, and she brightens instantly.  “How much do I owe you?”  He fumbles for his wallet, but Clara waves him off.

“Don’t you dare,” she scolds.  “Valerie loves working for Liam and Titan, and the least we can do is make sure her boss’ husband doesn’t faint in the café of my own hospital, yes?”

Zayn smiles gratefully at them, then takes a sip of his coffee—it’s perfect, exactly how he likes it.  He has to set the cup down at once because he’s suddenly choked up, overcome by a couple of trifling details, by the fact that Liam’s secretary somehow knows so much about him.

And bloody hell, he can’t believe he’s about to lose it in the middle of a hospital café over fucking _sprinkles._

He has to take a minute to compose himself.  Fingers pressed to the bridge of his nose, he contemplates how much Liam must talk about him at work if Valerie’s committed such things to memory already.  It makes Zayn rethink all that he’s assumed in the last few weeks.

It makes him rethink a lot of things.

When he’s able to, he looks across the table and sees two concerned faces.  “I’m fine,” he assures them.  And for the first time in a long time, there’s a grain of truth in that answer.

Zayn drinks some more coffee and takes a bite of the donut.  It might not be the meal Harry would recommend, but it seems to help, having some caffeine and sugar in his system.  After that, he gives an update on Liam’s status when Valerie asks again.  Soon, Clara has to get back to work, and as the two women say their goodbyes, Zayn messages Harry.  Harry texts back to let him know Liam’s still asleep.

Then, all of a sudden, they’re alone, Valerie and him.  “So…,” he begins nervously, “Clara’s your wife.”

“Yes, Clara’s my wife,” she repeats slowly.

“And you’re, uh, happily married?”

“Yes, for two years,” she answers a little quizzically until she catches Zayn staring at her bare hand.  “Oh, yeah…we don’t wear rings,” she explains.  “We had each other’s initials tattooed over the other’s heart instead.”

“The tattoo idea…that’s sick,” he says because it is.  Fuck, it’s one of the most romantic things he’s ever heard.

“She’s the love of my life.”  There’s something so simplistic and matter-of-fact about the way she says it that takes the statement to another level.

“Ah, I see,” Zayn nods, staring down at the sprinkle explosion left on his plate because he can’t face Valerie right now.  “So I’m, uh, guessing that means you’re not actually shagging my husband then.” 

Valerie gasps.  “Oh my God, you didn’t think—!”

“I did,” he interrupts before he loses his nerve.  “I saw the lipstick on his cheek that one day, and a few other things, and well….”  He trails off because it all sounds so ridiculous now.  He doesn’t know why he’s even gone and told Valerie except he’s hoping it might make her understand why he’s been acting like a right wazzock.  (Mostly though, he just needs to hear it’s not true, that the so-called affair had been a product of his over-active imagination and nothing more.)

“Ugh, I feel horrible,” she says apologetically, absently touching her copper red lips.  “But I think I can explain what happened with that lipstick smudge you saw,” she continues, and Zayn’s all fucking ears now.  “You see, Liam had just told me that he was going to request I be given the position permanently, and I got so bloody excited that I just smacked a kiss on his cheek without thinking.”

Zayn stares at her without blinking.  He wants to tell her that that explanation was shite, to give it another go, but thankfully, she seems to have realised that fact herself.

“Yeah, I know…,” she moans.  “My only excuse is that being the CTO’s personal secretary is just such an incredible opportunity, you know?  And everyone at Titan has been so incredibly lovely, and I just got carried away, I guess.  All I could think about was that it meant Clara and I could afford the house in Parsons Green we’ve been eying for a while,” she says, and her eyes temporarily glaze over with a fond, faraway look.  “Anyway, I apologised immediately to Liam and assured him it’d never happen again,” she swears, blinking her long, spidery eyelashes at him in earnest.

“What did he say?” Zayn asks, throat suddenly gone dry for some reason.  He feels like so much hinges on this even though it shouldn’t.  What she’s already said is enough.

“He replied”—she pauses to giggle into her hand—“’Good, because I like having you as my secretary, but I like having the proper fit bloke waiting for me across the street as a husband more.’”  

Zayn stares past Valerie and out the windows of the café.  He wants to bang his head against the wall because he’s been such a bloody idiot these past few weeks.  He can’t believe how close he came to fucking up his relationship with Liam—if it’s not totally fucked up already—and all because of a few unfortunate coincidences and his own insecurities.

And well… _of course_ Liam’s been more distant with him lately.  First, the man’s been driving himself to literal exhaustion; and second, Zayn’s been acting like a complete git because he thought his husband was cheating on him.

_Honestly._

Zayn asks about the ring then, and as suspected, there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for what happened.  Valerie informs him that Liam had taken his ring off because he’d nearly lost it in the sink the day before. 

“He’s lost weight,” Zayn says blankly, mad at himself all over again because he really should have put two and fucking two together.

Valerie nods.  “It’s funny,” she muses, “but that day when you came into the office, I had just taken the ring to a jeweller to be resized.  When I found out you were Liam’s husband, I panicked a little because Liam had been very adamant that he didn’t want you to know he was getting his ring resized.”

“Why?”

“He didn’t say.  At the time, I guessed it might have something to do with the inscription inside, that he thought you’d be sentimental about the fact that it would have to be redone.”

“But there isn’t an inscription in Liam’s ring,” Zayn replies because, well, there _isn’t._   He takes off his ring and hands it to her as a proof statement.  “Liam and I have the same exact ring and neither one has an inscription.” 

Valerie examines it.  “Well then he had one added to his,” she shrugs, handing the ring back to Zayn.  “All I know is that Liam’s ring _definitely_ had an engraving in it before I brought it in to be resized and engraved again.”

Things are making less sense the more Zayn converses with her, so he figures it’s probably a good time to leave.  “I should probably head back to the room; I want to be there when he wakes up.”

“Of course,” she says, rising to her feet.  “I need to return to the office and deal with the mess there, ugh.”

“I can imagine,” he empathises.  He tries not to think of all the work piling up in his own inbox.  “Oh, and thanks for breakfast.”

Valerie laughs.  “We’ll have to make it a proper breakfast sometime—the four of us, I mean—as soon as Liam is feeling up to it.”

And yes, Zayn thinks that would be a lovely idea… _if_ Liam decides to stay married to him, that is.

 

£.£.£.

 

It seems unethical somehow, taking a ring off a sleeping patient in hospital.  Zayn hasn’t time for second thoughts, however, since Harry just went down the hall and is sure to be back in a few minutes.

Slowly, he grasps the ring with his pincer fingers and wiggles it back and forth.  In the cold hospital room, it comes off relatively easily despite the fact that Liam had it resized.  (Zayn can only imagine how loose it must have been before.)

Then, with trembling fingers, he holds the ring up to the light.  The diamonds sparkle, almost distractingly, but he ignores them, focusing on the platinum band instead.  Squinting, he reads what’s inscribed inside: _For the rest of ours._

He recognises the words immediately, of course, because he wrote them himself. 

A few minutes ago, Zayn had thought tattooed initials on hearts was the most romantic gesture he’d ever come across outside of a novel, but now…now he’s changed his mind.  His own damn husband secretly had the last line of their wedding vows engraved inside his ring _twice_ , and it’s almost too much for Zayn to wrap his head around. 

He’s still shaking as he slides the ring back on Liam’s finger.  He falls back into his chair and is hit by a veritable cocktail of emotions: regret, relief, fear, self-loathing, love.

It’s then that Harry returns to the room.  It’s also then that Liam (finally) opens his eyes.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is going to be another chapter, don't worry! (Hopefully, you saw the change on Ao3/update on my tumblr and didn't think I was going to end it there.) I'll try to get it out to you as soon as I can.
> 
> Soooo....thoughts? I'm hoping this one answered some of those burning questions. Also, I'd love to read your predictions for what's going to happen when Liam wakes up, etc., so send them my way! 
> 
> Thank you for travelling this journey with me, and I can't wait to share the last chapter with you when it's ready. Much love! ~Maree xx


	13. Epilogue: Part 6 (in which Zayn is overwhelmed)

 

**_~ before ~_ **

“Happy Valentine’s Day!”

“Bugger off,” Zayn mumbles into his pillow, swatting his boyfriend away.  “It’s too early and Valentine’s was two days ago.”

But Liam doesn’t bugger off.  No, he plops down and starts bouncing on the bed like someone with way too much fucking energy for arse o’clock in the morning on Zayn’s day off.  “Wake up, babe!”

“Why?”

“Because we’re celebrating Valentine’s today!”

Groggily, Zayn forces his eyes open.  He’s surprised to find his boyfriend already dressed in casual clothes—a cream Henley and khakis.  He admires the soft colour on the man.  A mad idea comes into his head: he contemplates binning every shirt in Liam’s wardrobe that isn’t a shade of cream because his boyfriend looks _that_ good in the colour.

“Like what you see?” Liam teases.

“Maybe.”  Zayn side-eyes him.  “Or maybe I’m wondering why you aren’t dressed for the office when all you’ve been going on about lately are the logistics of moving your offices over to Titan Tower.  It _is_ Saturday, innit?” Zayn yawns, stretching. 

“Have you been listening to me, crabby-pants?” Liam scolds, poking him on the tip of his nose.  “I’m not going in today.  We have plans, remember?”

Zayn groans and burrows under the duvet.  The idea of doing anything that involves leaving their warm bed sounds sketchy at best. 

“Got you a present,” Liam offers as an incentive, rubbing Zayn’s shoulders.  (And yeah, if Liam’s objective is to get Zayn out of bed by massaging his shoulders, then he’s going to be deeply disappointed.)

“A present?” Zayn echoes, confused.  “We already exchanged gifts on Thursday, Leeyum, and you promised you wouldn’t keep buying me shit.”

“It’s something, uh, small.”

“Wait—it’s not tropical-flavoured condoms again, is it?” he blenches.  “Because I haven’t been able to face a piece of fruit in three weeks, Leeyum.  _Three weeks_.”

Liam snorts.  “Okay, so that was a naff idea.”

“The worst.”    

Liam stops massaging his shoulders then.  “Yeah, I was kinda hoping we wouldn’t have to bother about condoms anymore….”

“You want us to be officially exclusive?” Zayn jokes even though it isn’t a joke.  (Not completely.  It’s actually all he’s been longing to hear for weeks and weeks.  The thing is, they’ve done everything backwards and sometimes Zayn’s not even sure where they stand.  Not exactly.)  “So we talking Section five, Clause three level of commitment here?”

Liam groans at Zayn’s reference to the infamous contract.  “I probably deserve that.”

“Oh, you definitely deserve that.”  He nudges Liam in the side.  That’s when he remembers their ‘plans.’  Zayn hopes it’s something simple, like a film or reservations for a casual dinner.  He’s not in the mood for much more than that, even drinks with the lads.  “So what’s on the agenda today?”

“Donuts, cuddling, Thai takeaway, and a Marvel marathon.  You up for it?”

Zayn smiles, hooks his finger onto the collar of Liam’s shirt and pulls him in.  “Liam James Payne, that is the sexiest thing you’ve ever said to me.”  Zayn presses a tender kiss to his boyfriend’s lips, yawns loudly, and then rolls over again.

He’s asleep for all of a minute before he’s awakened by an earthquake.  On further inspection, it’s not actually an earthquake.  It’s Liam shaking him awake, and Zayn’s pretty sure he’s just discovered his boyfriend’s worst quality. 

“Babe, wake uuuu-uuup!” Liam sing-songs and Zayn can’t even.

“Leeyum, lemme sleep for another hour.”

“I’ve already let you sleep another hour.  I’ve done my workout, showered, made coffee, and went out for donuts.”

Zayn opens one eye and checks the clock again.  He’s not sure how it’s possible to do all that before eight in the morning, but if someone could manage it, it’s definitely his boyfriend.  Or the Energiser Bunny.  (Then again, his boyfriend might actually _be_ the Energiser Bunny.  Zayn’s never seen the two in the same room together so.)  “What’s the rush to get up, babe?” he asks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.  “Thought we weren’t going anywhere today.”

“Yes, but—” Liam stops midsentence and frowns.  He’s disappointed, and if there’s one thing Zayn can’t stomach, it’s a disappointed Liam.  

“Alright, give me one good reason to get up now, Liam Payne, and I _might_ reconsider.”

Liam looks down and to the left in that way of his.  “We’re spending the whole day together, yeah?  Just the two of us?”

“Yes...,” Zayn carefully agrees.

“Well, like I said…we’re spending the whole day together,” Liam repeats shyly, “and I don’t want to waste a single minute of it.”

 

£.£.£.

 

“ _Zayn_ ,” Harry hisses next to him in the chilly hospital room, “he’s awake.”

Zayn stares helplessly back at his friend.  It’s not like he didn’t see Liam open his eyes just now.  He knows Liam is awake, but Zayn…well, Zayn’s not sure what to do about that.  He’s a mess.  He feels something overwhelming in his chest, but he doesn’t know how to translate it into words or actions.  He’s just…overwhelmed.

Luckily, Harry comes to the rescue.  “Hey, missed you, Payno,” he says, scooting his chair closer to Liam’s bedside.  “How are you feeling, mate?”

Liam blinks a few times, seemingly taking in the IV in his arm and the other equipment surrounding his bed.  “What happened?”

“You remember the exec meeting this morning?” Harry asks gently.

Liam nods in recognition.  Zayn tries to ignore how drained Liam sounds and looks lying there in the hospital bed.  Liam is the pinnacle of strong, and the man appears anything but strong now.  “Yeah, I gave a presentation.  How…how’d it go?”

“You aced it, as usual,” Harry replies.  “Then at the very end, you fainted.”

“I did?”

“Yep,” Harry answers.  “And if it weren’t for Zayn here and his superhuman reflexes, you’d probably have a nasty bump on your head right now.”

Liam looks confused before he spots Zayn sitting in the other chair.  “You’re here,” he rasps, sounding surprised, and yeah, that kind of hurts.  It brings back memories of the last few weeks, of how they’ve been little more than strangers co-existing under the same roof.  And fuck, Zayn’s not sure if he can do this because maybe somewhere along the way, Liam _did_ stop loving him.  

It’s then Zayn remembers his husband just spoke to him.  He clears his throat and tries not to fall apart.  “Yeah, yeah; ‘course I’m here,” he falters. 

Harry shoots him a look, and Zayn shrugs back at him.  He knows that sounded awkward, but he hasn’t a clue how to fix that, hasn’t a clue how to fix _them._

“I-I should notify a nurse,” Zayn stammers, stumbling to his feet, “let ‘em know you’re awake, like.”

Harry rewards him with another look.  “ _Sit_ , Zayn.  I can—”

“No, I got it,” Zayn interrupts, walking briskly out of the room before Harry can object.

Once he’s out of the room, Zayn feels like he can breathe again.  He informs the first nurse he recognises that his husband is awake, and she immediately goes in to check on the patient.

Zayn waits outside.  Instinctively, he touches his ring, comforted by the fact that it’s still there, on his finger, where it should be.  It steadies him, anchors him.  Even removing it for the few seconds necessary to show Valerie earlier had discomforted him.

Zayn closes his eyes and slumps against the wall.  He knows he should be in the hospital room with his husband, but he just needs another minute.  He needs another minute to remember how it was before (just in case it’s never the same again).

 

£.£.£.

****

**_~ before ~_ **

“Babe—”

“Not now—this is the good part!” Zayn shushes his boyfriend.  They’re snuggled on the couch, four films into their Marvel marathon, and as much as Zayn loves listening to the sound of Liam’s voice, this is no time for idle chatter.

Liam stifles a laugh.  “You say that about every part in this film.”

“Uh… _Deadpool_ ,” Zayn explains because _duh_.  Liam shakes his head, then stretches to reach the bag of gummy bears on the end table.  Zayn braces himself as Liam’s weight shifts on top of him.  “Oof!”

“Ooh, sorry, babe!  Was that your rib?” Liam asks apologetically, dislodging the offending elbow from Zayn’s ribcage.  “Do you want me to sit on the other side of the couch maybe?”

“Don’t you dare,” Zayn tells him, eyes still glued to the screen.  (This _is_ his favourite scene after all—one of them at any rate.)  Really, there’s bugger-all point in Liam moving now.  Zayn’s arm went dead an hour ago and he’s relatively certain he’ll never regain feeling in his right foot, but he’s also warm and contented and Liam makes a nice (if heavy) blanket.  Liam smells nice, too, like bergamot and cedar and red chilies and home.

Liam dips his hand into the Haribo bag, and a moment later, Zayn feels a poke at his cheek.  Obligingly, he opens his mouth and Liam drops a few gummies inside.  When Zayn tastes raspberry on his tongue, he knows his boyfriend picked out all the red ones for him.

And maybe that’s why he loves Liam so much. 

Zayn’s enjoying the film, savouring the lingering taste of raspberry when the screen abruptly freezes.  When he looks down, he sees Liam still holding the remote in his hand like a smoking revolver. 

“ _Et tu_ , Liam?”

Liam snorts.  “God, you’re such a dork.”

“Leeeeyum,” Zayn protests, elbowing his boyfriend in his rock-hard abs as a bit of payback for earlier but probably hurting himself more in the process.  “Seriously, you can’t pause it there.”

“Why not?” Liam chuckles, and Zayn’s beginning to suspect the man might secretly have masochistic tendencies.

“Because Wade was just about to give Vanessa the Voltron ring!”

Liam grins as he sits up on the couch.  “Just want to discuss something; won’t take ten minutes, yeah?  Then we can put _Deadpool_ back on,” he promises, setting the remote where Zayn can’t reach it.  (Liam knows him so well.)

“Is…something wrong?”

“Nah, nothing like that,” Liam reassures him.  “I just wanted to ask you something.”

Zayn mulls it over.  His gut instinct is that this has something to do with work—even in a roundabout way—and Zayn doesn’t want to think about work.  (And even more importantly, he doesn’t want _Liam_ to think about work.)  Unfortunately, his boyfriend seems dead set on the matter.  “Alright, but then we get to watch _Deadpool 2_ after we finish this one,” he bargains.  

Liam’s eyes crinkle at the corners in an expression that could only be characterised as scandalised joy.  “But I let you cheat with the first one!  Technically, the _X-Men_ aren’t even—”

“ _Technically_ ,” Zayn cuts him off, “I don’t give a flying fuck.”  He folds his arms over his chest and delivers his final ultimatum.  “That’s the deal, babe.  Take it or leave it.”

The corners of Liam’s mouth twirl up.  “That your final word?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, you win,” Liam replies almost too quickly and now Zayn’s thinking he should have upped the ante.  For some reason Zayn hasn’t figured out yet, he hardly ever gets his way with Liam—well, with anything important anyway.  “Be right back!” Liam shouts as he sprints towards his office.  A moment later, Zayn hears a desk drawer being thrown open, followed by the comical off-camera rustling he got used to back when he was the CTO’s secretary.  It sounds as if Liam’s destroying every piece of furniture in the room, but Zayn doesn’t bat an eye.

Zayn sits up and shakes out his arm, the one that’s still tingling.  Then, he closes his eyes and rubs them with the heel of his palms, wishing Liam didn’t have to interrupt their together-time with some work-related issue.  When he reopens his eyes, he realises how dark it’s become, twilight creeping in through the tall windows and the skylight.  He switches on a lamp and waits impatiently for his boyfriend to return from battle. 

When Liam does return a minute later, he’s got his hands shoved deep into the joggers he changed into earlier.  Liam takes a seat on the other end of the couch, then folds his hands in his lap.  “So…uh…,” he struggles out, and now Zayn’s a little concerned.  Maybe there _is_ something wrong.  Liam licks his lips.  “So, what kind of ring would you want?”

Zayn raises an eyebrow.  He’s not sure what he was expecting but it definitely wasn’t that.  “What kind of a ring would I want for what, babe?”

“Like…if you were gonna get engaged.”

“Think I’d want an engagement ring then,” he proffers, rolling his eyes.  “Now if we’re done with question time, Leeyum, put _Deadpool_ back on.” 

“I mean…what sort of engagement ring would you want?”

“Well, it depends on who I’m marrying,” Zayn answers glibly.  “Maybe they’d have an opinion, too.”  He takes a gummy bear from the package and flicks it at his boyfriend for asking random questions in the middle of their movie night. 

Liam clears his throat again.  Then he coughs.  Then he clears his throat…again.

“Need a cough sweet, babe?” Zayn asks.  “I’ve some of those honey and lemon ones you always nick from me when—”

“What if you were marrying someone like me,” Liam blurts out.  “What, uh, sort of a ring would you fancy then?” he asks, and oh, Zayn wasn’t expecting that.  (Maybe he should’ve been expecting it with the direction of the conversation, but he wasn’t. 

Shit, they haven’t talked about _that_ at all.)  

Zayn clears his own throat because apparently it’s contagious.  “If we ever decided to…you know, like down the road or whatever….”  He takes a deep breath.  “Well, I’d want _my_ ring, Leeyum.”

“Your ring?”

“Yes, my ring,” Zayn says quietly, feeling silly all of a sudden.  “The ring you gave me…from before.” 

“From the fake engagement?”

Zayn nods.  He feels a little saddened now as he reflects on that night in another lifetime, the night of Walters’ party, the night Zayn gave Liam back his engagement ring.  Zayn’s never seen either of the two rings since, and he figures Liam must have gotten rid of them months ago. 

“You’d really want the same ring?” Liam questions, something incredibly fond and incredibly _Liam_ in his tone.

“Yeah, I would,” Zayn confesses, fingertips smoothing over the vacant place on his ring finger.  “And I realise you probably sold them eons ago and that Cartier is ridiculously expensive, but…yeah.  I think it would be nice to have the same style of rings—like, if we ever decided to…you know.”

“God, I was hoping you’d say that.”  Liam rises from the couch, then almost immediately drops to one knee.  Zayn’s wondering what the hell his boyfriend is doing on the floor when the man removes a small box from his pocket.

“What the…?” Zayn gasps, gawking at the ‘Cartier’ in gold script ornamenting the lid of the red leather pillbox.

“Told you I had a present for ya,” Liam says, a gleam in his eyes before his expression turns serious.  “Zayn, I thought and thought about how I wanted to do this,” he states, gazing into his boyfriend’s eyes.  “I thought about all the ways I could make this proposal theatrical and special, make it something you’d remember.  And then I realised that our relationship started off as something public, something for all the world to see, and….”

Zayn tries to remember how to breathe.  “And?”

“And I decided the most special way for me to propose would be to do it here with just us and no one watching.”

Zayn nods once.  He doesn’t trust himself to speak, not yet.  He’s amazed by Liam, amazed by how well this man knows him.  Liam takes his hand, and Zayn suddenly understands what it truly means to be ‘swept away.’  He can’t believe this is happening, especially so soon after they got (back) together, but it feels right.  Everything about Liam, about them, has always felt so right…even if it took them ages to realise it.

Liam pops open the box revealing two rings nestled in a bed of black velvet.  He takes out the front one, leaving the other in the box.  “So…will you marry me, Zayn Malik?”

“Yes,” Zayn answers quickly.  “Fuck yes, of course!”  And for a brief moment, he thinks he spots relief on Liam’s face.  Soon, the look disappears, and Zayn’s certain he must have imagined it.  After all, there’s no way Liam could have doubted he’d say ‘yes.’  Agreeing to marry Liam is the surest decision Zayn’s ever made in his life. 

Fuck, he’s so in love he feels as if he might spontaneously combust.

Liam slides the ring onto his finger, and Zayn knows instantly that it’s his.  It’s not a replacement ring, not a substitute or surrogate, it’s _his_.  Zayn has to take a moment then because he’s afraid if he starts blubbering, he’ll never stop.  It feels like there’s a sudden cosmic shift, like he’d been travelling out of orbit for so long and now his course has finally been corrected.

He feels complete, feels blessed.

So incredibly blessed.

Zayn glances down at the pillbox Liam set on the table and removes the other ring.  It slips easily onto Liam’s finger.  Then, he grabs a hold of Liam’s arm and heaves him up off the floor.  The man topples onto him in a sprawl of limbs and giggles. 

They seal their engagement with soft declarations of love and a kiss that tastes like raspberry lemonade and sunrises over Waterloo Bridge.  When their lips finally part, Liam smiles hazily down at him like an angel, still dressed in that celestial cream shirt, and says:

“Alright, you can watch _Deadpool_ now.”

Zayn shoves the man away because _honestly_.  While Liam’s cackling on the other side of the couch, acting like a right brat, Zayn attempts to slide the engagement ring off his finger.  He had planned to make some playful, teasing comment about how he’s changed his mind, but he can’t.  Zayn physically can’t remove the ring—not because it’s stuck or anything like that because the fit couldn’t be more perfect—but because he _can’t._  

He feels that sudden twinge in his chest resurface, like stepping barefoot on a forgotten piece of glass days after you thought you’d swept up every last shard off the kitchen floor.  He remembers the last time he took this ring off and how painfully long he’s had to wait to get it back on his finger, back where it belongs.

He’s not sure he could take it off again even if he wanted to.

Liam must see something in his eyes because his mirth transforms to concern in a split second.  “Alright, babe?” he asks, caressing Zayn’s cheek, checking in as he always does.

Zayn swallows and nods slowly.  “Yes, just….”

“C’mere.”

Zayn melts into his new fiancé’s arms, and it’s as if every pain and fear he ever had drifts away.  He hopes it’s always like this.  _Just_ like this.  He snuggles against Liam’s chest, breathes him in, and tries not to (over)think for once.

“For a moment there…,” Liam starts hesitantly, and no, Zayn doesn’t want to talk right now.  He just wants to _be._

“It was nothing, Leeyum,” Zayn assures him because it wasn’t.  (It _isn’t._ )  “Just…promise me you’ll never take your ring off, yeah?  And I’ll promise never to take mine off.  Not ever.”

Liam doesn’t ask for a reason and Zayn’s glad about that because he doesn’t think he could give him one.  “That all?” Liam asks with a soft chuckle.  “I promise,” he agrees easily.  He kisses the top of Zayn’s head and pulls away to look at him properly.  “Now, since you don’t want to finish the film, what _do_ you want to do?”

“Leeyum,” Zayn purrs, taking one final glance at that cream Henley because he knows it’s the last time he’ll be seeing it on Liam tonight, “do you _really_ have to ask?”  

£.£.£.

 

Zayn fills his lungs with oxygen and counts down slowly as he exhales.  He can do this.  It’s just Liam; it’s just his husband, and he can do this.

He can _do_ this. 

There’s boisterous laughter as Zayn re-enters Liam’s hospital room, and it catches him off guard.  He feels like he’s interrupting something, a special moment between two friends, so he stays by the door.  No one notices him lurking there.  (He wonders if anyone noticed he was gone.

He wonders if anyone cared.)

“Listen, next time you want to bunk off work, Payno,” Harry jokes, “just ask.”

Liam cracks a smile, and Zayn’s almost forgotten how much he’s missed that smile.  “I’ll remember that next time, Styles.”  When Liam spots Zayn, however, his smile instantly fades.  They stare at each other in awkward silence until—

“Good evening, Mr. Malik-Payne,” a doctor Zayn recognises from earlier greets Liam as he slides past Zayn to stand at the foot of the bed.  “I’m Doctor Andrews.  I spoke to your husband earlier; you gave him quite a scare.”  Zayn groans inwardly as he recalls the embarrassing conversation.  “I was getting ready to leave,” the grey-haired doctor continues, “but I heard you woke up, and I wanted to see how you were doing, answer any questions you might have.”

Harry murmurs a polite greeting to the doctor before rising from his chair.  “Zayn, could I see you in the hall for a minute?”

Zayn nods reluctantly, then follows the HR Director outside.

“Look,” Harry starts, an edge to his voice that wasn’t there moments ago, “I don’t know what the hell’s going on with you two lately, but--”

“It’s nothing,” Zayn insists, rubbing his forehead tiredly.  “I mean, there _was_ something before, but”—he searches for a way to explain the unexplainable as Harry arches an eyebrow—“it turned out to be nothing.”

Harry’s not impressed, and really, Zayn can’t blame him.  “Is it because Liam’s been working too much?”

“I don’t know,” Zayn answers evasively, “maybe partly, I guess.”

“Yeah, well even I didn’t realise it was getting this bad,” Harry sighs, “but believe me, I’ll be keeping an eye out from now on and ripping him a new one when needed.”

“Thanks, Harry.”

Harry regards him wearily.  “Yeah, well that’s what friends are for, right?”  He squeezes Zayn’s shoulder as if to say he’s not only referring to Liam with that comment.  “One last thing,” he adds just before they’re about to re-enter the room, “get out of your head; otherwise, you’ll miss what’s right in front of you.”

“I’ll try,” Zayn answers sincerely.  “I’ll definitely try.”

The doctor is explaining something to his patient as they walk in and return to their former chairs.  Liam takes everything in quietly, gaze flitting back to Zayn every so often as if to check he’s still there. 

Harry doesn’t stay long after the doctor leaves.  “I’ll be back tomorrow after work, Payno,” he says, giving Liam a half hug.  “I’ll leave you two alone.”  His words are loaded, just like the look he gives Zayn before departing.

Zayn gets to his feet and takes a few shuffling steps over to his husband’s bedside.  He feels unsure at first, but he needs to close the distance between them, needs it more than anything he’s ever needed in his life.

“You shouldn’t get too close,” Liam warns gruffly, “I’ve flu.”

“You could have bloody plague, ya donut, and you still wouldn’t be able to get rid of me,” Zayn scoffs, and…he can do this.  He can ease the tension, make things less strained than they are.  (He can try.)  “Besides I got a flu jab last month.  Remember?”

Liam’s eyebrows scrunch together.  “You did?”

“Yes, Liam.  I did.”  Zayn fluffs the extra pillow the last nurse brought in before sliding it under his husband’s head.  “You were supposed to get one as well, but you cancelled, said you had work.”

“In hindsight, that was a shit decision.”  Liam closes his eyes and winces then as if he’s recalling things more painful than neglecting to get a flu jab.

“You alright, babe?”

There’s resignation written all over Liam’s face when he meets Zayn’s gaze.  “You…don’t have to be here, just so you know.”

Zayn’s heart starts racing; there’s a fever of worry raging within him.  He wills himself not to overreact, not to read too much into Liam’s defeated eyes.  He can’t give up.  (He _can’t_ give up.)  “Why wouldn’t I want to be here?”

For some reason, his words just seem to make Liam angry.  “Harry’s not here anymore, Zayn.  You don’t have to pretend.”

“Leeyum—”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Liam shudders out, looking completely broken.  “Don’t say my name like that, not…not if you don’t mean it.”

Zayn opens his mouth but can’t think of a single word to say to make it better, to fix whatever damage has been done to their relationship.

“Listen, all I meant to say is that I want you to be real with me.  If you’re trying to put on a good show for Harry or the doctors or bloody Walters…or I don’t even know.”  Liam looks away, clutching the white hospital blanket in his hands like it’s the only thing he’s got left to hold onto.  “Well, it’s not necessary.  I don’t want you to have to pretend ever again.”

Zayn’s breath hitches.  “Pretend?  What are you going on about, Liam?”

Liam looks completely pained now, fragile even.  “Don’t make me say it,” he whispers hoarsely.

And fuck, that’s when Zayn gets it, gets how acutely Liam must have felt the distance between them, too. 

“I know I’ve been acting, er, distant,” Zayn begins, wondering where to go from there as Liam peeks up at him with apprehension in his brown orbs.  “It’s because….”  He bites his lip hard, wonders why it’s so damn difficult to get the bloody words out.

“I know,” Liam states dully.  “I’ve known for a while now.”

“Known what exactly?”

His husband doesn’t reply—not right away at least.  He’s forming thoughts he won’t share, editing his words carefully, and Zayn hates that.  “I just…think we should give it more time,” he manages at last.  “Please, Zayn.  Just a little more time.”

“Time for what?”

Liam searches his eyes.  “Maybe…you should go first, say what you were going to say.”

Zayn nods but it’s more for himself than Liam.  “Okay, here goes.”  He sucks in a breath.  “I thought you were cheating on me,” he says quick, like ripping off a plaster, “with Valerie.”

Liam’s jaw drops.  The pure shock and surprise on Liam’s face shouldn’t make Zayn feel as good as it does, especially when the man’s lying in a hospital bed hooked up to a million machines, but it does.  

“Is that what you—did you honestly think—?” Liam sputters before pulling himself together.  “Zayn, I would _never_ cheat on you—with Valerie or anyone else.”

Zayn breaks down then, all his fears and frustrations disbanded.  “It seemed like you didn’t w-want me anymore,” he hiccups, “and…and then it turns out you were just _exhausted_ , like literally exhausted,” he moans, head in hands.  “And I’ve spoken with Valerie, and she set me straight on everything, and…and I’ve been s-so stupid, Leeyum.  I shouldn’t even be t-telling you this with what you’re going through.  It’s just…I didn’t want you to think I...I….”

A sob wrenches from Zayn’s chest then.  Every emotion he’s been trying to keep bottled up for weeks now erupts like a geyser.  Zayn feels like a right idiot or the worst kind of asshole, sobbing uncontrollably as Liam tries to soothe him with his free hand, running a hand through his hair.  It should be the other way around, Zayn comforting his poorly husband, but it’s not.  It’s not, because Zayn’s a mess (and a shit husband apparently). 

“S-sorry,” Zayn sniffs when he’s able to speak after several minutes.  “I can’t even imagine what you must have thought.”

“I thought you regretted—” Liam stops cold, and Zayn’s almost afraid to ask.

“Thought I regretted what?”

“Marrying me,” Liam answers in a small voice.

_“What?”_

“That’s part of the reason I’ve been working so much lately,” Liam admits, “but just a tiny part,” he hurriedly tacks on before Zayn can bury himself with guilt.  “Mostly I’ve just been obsessed with making sure everything’s been perfect at work, with the transition and all.”  He sighs tiredly.  “That…that was something I could control.”

And yes, that makes sense to Zayn—in a fucked-up sort of way.  “But why did you think I was having regrets about marrying you?” he presses because that’s something he _can’t_ wrap his head around, not without a good reason.

Liam doesn’t look at him.  “I don’t know,” he says dismissively, and Zayn wonders just how long Liam’s been holding onto that crazy notion.  “Anyway, I knew you were unhappy, and…well, I figured I’d give you some space.” 

Zayn almost laughs at the irony.  ‘Space’ was literally the last thing either of them needed.

“Just for the record, I’d _never_ regret marrying you, Leeyum,” Zayn swears, gently moving a few wires and the IV so he can lie next to his husband in the cramped bed.  “Never in a million fucking years.”

“What about in a million and one years?”

Zayn snorts and wipes his eyes with his sleeve.  “Possibly then.  No guarantees, babe.” 

Liam smiles at him with that familiar fondness, and it’s then that Zayn knows everything’s going to be alright. 

(It isn’t alright yet, but it’s close.

It’s getting there.)

 

£.£.£.

 

Valerie stops by Liam’s room the next morning to deliver a paper that requires his signature, but Liam’s still asleep. 

Zayn’s there to meet her.  He’s been there since dawn because the nurses seem to like him and allowed him in before proper visiting hours.  (Either that or they felt sorry for him.  Every moment away from his husband is sheer torture, and Zayn has a tendency to wear his emotions with as much restraint as one of Harry’s suits.)

“Don’t wake him—I’ll come by later,” Valerie whispers.  She motions towards the door, and they continue the conversation out in the hallway.  “Just wanted to repeat how rotten I feel about that stupid, silly kiss.”

He waves her apology off.  “Don’t worry about it.  I acted like a jealous cow, so I reckon we’re even.”

“Well,” she hums, twisting a lock of brunette hair thoughtfully, “if there’s anything I can do to make up for it—anything at all, mind you—please don’t hesitate to ask.”

Zayn stares down at his hand.  “Actually, there _is_ something you could do,” he admits before he loses his nerve, “something I’d appreciate very much….”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the flashback(s) to the proposal and sorry this took a little longer than expected. I had another health setback and needed a bit of a mental health break, but I'm back on track now. xx
> 
> One more chapter to go, and I mean it this time, lol. As a side note, this means there are 7 chapters in the original published fic and 7 in the epilogue, and I think that's beautiful.
> 
> Anyway, thank you for sticking with me on this journey and for all your amazing feedback. I read and cherish every comment (and will reply to them soon). Much love! ~Maree xx


	14. Epilogue: Part 7 (in which Liam takes a holiday)

 

“Ugh, when am I getting out of here?” Liam grumps later that day.  He’s just woken up from a nap, but he still looks dead knackered.  Zayn suspects Liam has had more rest since he’s been in hospital than in the entire time they’ve been married.  “Could you check when I’m going to be released, babe?  I’ve so much shit to do, and I’ve already lost two days as it is.”

It’s amazing how quickly Liam’s mind is back to work mode.  Maybe it’s because he feels better.  Maybe it’s because they cleared up all misunderstandings between them last night.  There had been smiles, apologies, and too many tears (especially on Zayn’s part), but now, the CTO is ready to return to his previous programming.

Zayn heaves a heavy sigh.  He’s going to have to break the news gently.

“So here’s the deal.”  Zayn sits on the edge of Liam’s bed, figures it’s best if he stays close.  

“Where’s my phone?” Liam asks, just shy of frantic.  His eyes scan his tray and surroundings as he pats the folds of the blanket.  “Do you have it?  Is it charged?”

Zayn resists the urge to roll his eyes.  “Yeah, it’s safe.  Don’t worry about your mobile right now, yeah?  I’ve something I need to tell you.” 

“Uh-huh” Liam mumbles distractedly, still patting the bed.  “Just gonna check my Titan email, maybe answer a few—”

“ _Liam_ ,” Zayn interrupts, annoyed, and Liam does actually focus on him then. 

“Yes, babe?”

Zayn decides against easing into the news; he’d never be able to hold the CTO’s attention for that long in the current state he’s in.  “You’ve got orders for a mandatory two-to-four weeks off, starting today.”

Liam makes a gurgling sound, his heartrate jumps dramatically, and Zayn’s just about ready to call for a nurse when Liam grabs his arm.  “You’re taking the piss right?”

Zayn shakes his head, and Liam’s expression transitions from desperate to horror-stricken to outraged in the span of ten seconds.  Zayn knew this wasn’t going to be easy from the moment Harry rang him with news of the arrangement but actually witnessing Liam’s reaction is eye-opening.

“Babe, I can’t take a fucking _holiday_ right now,” he whinges as if this were Zayn’s decision in the first place.  “The technology department will be in _chaos_ , and I’ve only just managed to get everything sorted.”

“Everything’s in order, you say?” Zayn clucks approvingly.  “Perfect timing then.”

Liam looks betrayed, positively aghast at his husband’s nonchalance.  “Look, if I suddenly go ghost for two weeks, the company’s stock will plummet and—”

“It’s already dipped a bit,” Zayn informs him matter-of-factly, and Liam makes that sickly, gurgling sound again.  “It fell the moment the media got wind of your collapse, babe.”

“ _Collapse_?”

“Yeah, don’t worry though.  Louis’ put out a well-crafted statement so no one’s speculating.  Matter of fact, you’ve received loads of lovely messages and flowers from friends, colleagues, and clients this morning.”  Zayn waves around the room that’s chock-a-block with floral arrangements.  “The daisies are from your mum.  I convinced her there was no need to fly back from Australia when I spoke with her yesterday, but you should ring her soon.  The fruit basket is from Harry, of course.”  He’d keep talking, pointing out the various cards and gifts, but Liam’s not really listening because of course he isn’t.

“Fuck,” Liam panics, trying to push himself up through sheer willpower.  “ _Fuck._   I need to go.  I’m gonna lose my bloody job.”

“No you won’t,” Zayn shushes him.  “Harry’s already arranged everything and—”

“ _Sod_ Harry.  I’m worried about Walters!  What’s he going to say when—”

“Geesh.  Take it easy, babe, and let me explain,” Zayn intervenes, placing a steadying hand on his husband’s chest to ensure Liam doesn’t go all Wolverine on him and start ripping out IVs and monitoring devices before making a wild dash out the doors.  “Walters isn’t happy but only because he wanted to give you a month off _at the_ _minimum_.  Harry said you’d go mad if you were feeling better before then, so you’re only ‘required’ to stay away the two weeks.”

Liam’s eyebrows knit together.  “Walters said that?”

“Yeah, he’ll be here tomorrow morning if you want to ask him yourself.  Alan and him sent those sick roses, by the way.”  Zayn pushes himself off the bed and walks towards a tall vase containing long-stem, Titan-gold roses.  “Thought they were spray-painted at first,” Zayn marvels, touching one of the velvety-smooth petals. 

“I’m going to be here another day?” Liam moans because of course that’s all he gathered from everything Zayn’s just told him.

“Yes, but the doctor said he might release you tomorrow afternoon— _if_ you promise to take it easy for the next few weeks.”

“Then why can’t I start work on Monday?”

Zayn’s fairly certain he’s explained that already, but he figures he’ll give it another shot.  Maybe it’ll sink in after a few repetitions.  “Because, my dear husband, you’re supposed to be recovering.”

“Yeah, but who’s going to be minding my department while I’m away?” Liam asks as Zayn re-joins him.  “And if you say Delaney, I swear to God I’m getting out of this bed right now and driving myself to Titan Tower.”

Zayn stares down at his husband.  “In case you forgot, I had to suffer through being Delaney’s secretary when he was acting CTO of Payne Innovations; you really don’t need to explain to me how useless he is,” Zayn says, and he shudders thinking back on it.  That wasn’t the best of times in more ways than one.  “When Harry offered him a ‘respectable’ demotion, Delaney jumped at it, mate.  That man doesn’t want to go anywhere _near_ CTO of fucking Titan Technologies.”

“But there’s no one else,” Liam laments.  “I wouldn’t have had the time to train anyone even if I wanted to.”

“Jones,” Zayn supplies, and he feels like he’s just played a trump card.

“Jones is retired,” Liam declares as if Zayn didn’t know, as if the whole bloody fake engagement fiasco wasn’t specifically orchestrated to get Liam Jones’ job after she retired.

“Jones has already accepted.  She’s agreed to take over CTO duties as a personal favour to Walters until you’re back on your feet, however long it takes.”

“But—”

“You know she’s more than capable of taking the reins for a few weeks, babe.  She was only CTO of Titan for a bloody decade or summat,” Zayn reminds him, daring Liam to object or to make some excuse about how that was before the Titan takeover.  (He doesn’t.)  “Plus, Harry’s going to concentrate on filling vacancies in technology first, now that the offices are finished and all Dan Payne’s people are out.  When the department’s fully staffed, there’ll be less pressure on you to pick up the slack.”

“Still don’t like this,” Liam grumps, crumbling into the bed.  “I feel...useless.”

“Jones doesn’t mind,” Zayn assures him.  “And according to Harry, she thinks you’re doing a brilliant job as CTO.”

Liam lights up.  “Jones said that.  Really?”

Zayn brushes a lock of hair away from his husband’s forehead.  Even in Liam’s exhausted state, Zayn can’t help but think how handsome the man is—beautiful, really.  “I know it’s almost winter, but maybe we can find somewhere nice, somewhere we can lie on the beach all day.”

“We?”

Zayn pokes him on the tip of the nose.  “Yeah, you didn’t think I’d let you go off on holiday all by yourself, did you?”

“Fantastic,” Liam mumbles sarcastically, “guess we’ll both be on the dole then.”

Zayn _does_ roll his eyes then.  “Babe, you know I can do ninety percent of my job remotely, and I already spoke with Louis about it anyway.  And before you ask,” he adds because he can already see an idea forming in the CTO’s eyes, “you’re not allowed to log into any of your work accounts during your time off.  In fact, Harry’s locking you out of all systems as we speak.”

“Like I wouldn’t be able to hack into every one of Titan’s systems if I really wanted to,” Liam scoffs.  “I designed or developed half of them, didn’t I?”

Zayn takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.  “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.  Just try to focus on the benefits, yeah?  It’ll give you time to recover, and it’ll almost be like a second honeymoon.”

“Second honeymoon?  We’ve only been married for seven months.”

Zayn smiles with his tongue between his teeth.  “I vote we go on at least two honeymoons a year.  What do you say?”

Liam snorts.  “I’d say you’re mad.”

“Mad about _you_ , babe.”

Liam turns away.  He’s hiding and Zayn wishes he wasn’t, wishes he wouldn’t don the stoic mask all the time when he’s feeling vulnerable, wishes Liam wasn’t _quite_ so brave all the time.

Zayn reaches for his hand.  “What you thinking, babe?” he prods softly.  Liam’s not used to sharing, but then, Zayn isn’t either.  They’ve got some ways to go when it comes to being completely open, but they’re headed in the right direction.  They proved that last night.

They’ve made progress.  Baby steps.

“Don’t deserve you,” Liam says at last, choking up. 

“Don't be daft.”

“No, I mean it,” Liam says emphatically.  “I can’t believe I almost fucked this up because of _work_ , can’t believe I lost sight of the only thing that really matters to me—you.   _Us_.” 

“Liam….”  Zayn’s good with words, but he’s not sure how to respond to Liam’s admission.  If he’s being brutally honest with himself, it’s always been Zayn’s biggest insecurity, that Liam values his career over everything else (including Zayn).  No matter how many times he’s told himself the idea’s rubbish, it still helps to hear his husband speak that truth out loud.  Liam’s been working so much over the past weeks—to the point of literal exhaustion—and it’s been harder than usual to quell those persistent, nagging doubts. 

“Bloody hell, what was I thinking?”  Liam inhales shakily, still refusing to look at him even though Zayn would give anything to gaze deep into those coffee-coloured orbs right now. 

Zayn lightens the mood because that’s what they do.  They revert to banter, rely on humour when things get too serious.  (Like right now.)  “At least _you_ weren’t convinced your husband was shagging his secretary.”

“…Based on purely circumstantial evidence,” Liam reminds him, finally turning to look up at him again.  Liam isn’t hiding anymore, and Zayn’s glad.  His husband’s eyes are shiny, and his nose, a little red, but somehow Liam’s even more beautiful in Zayn’s eyes than he was a minute ago.

“Based on purely circumstantial evidence,” Zayn grants.

“And let’s not forget the fact that said secretary is happily married with two cats.”

“ _Two_ cats?” Zayn echoes, feigning shock.  “Man, if I only knew about the two cats before, that would’ve changed _everything._ ”

“Dork,” Liam mutters, smiling up at him.  (And yes, Zayn’s certain Liam just got handsomer in the last thirty seconds somehow.)

“Damn, you look so sexy in that hospital bed, Leeyum,” Zayn teases, only half-kidding.  “Can’t wait to get you all to myself for two weeks….”

Someone ahems from the doorway, and they both turn to watch Harry glide in.  “Although I’m chuffed to bits you two idiots listened to my advice and worked everything out,” he observes amusedly, “I feel it my duty to remind you about what the doctor said last night.  Payno here is supposed to refrain from _all strenuous physical activity_ for the next month.  That includes you-know-what.”

Zayn innocently bats his eyelashes.  “Oh, it wouldn’t be strenuous for him, Harry.  I’m planning on doing all the work.”

Harry gives a long-suffering sigh.  “ _Anyway_...I’ve come to give you this.”  He hands Zayn a thick folder.  “I spoke with my personal dietician as well as the doctors here, and we came up with a nutritional plan for the next month or so,” he informs them proudly.  “I’ve also included some of my favourite smoothie recipes—the ones without kale or wheat grass—in case you fancy giving them a try, Payno.”

“Yeah, will do,” Liam says with a crinkly-eyed smile.  “Cheers, mate.”

Harry gives his best mate a half-hug, half slap-on the back.  “Take care of yourself, mate.”  Then he turns to Zayn, arching one eyebrow in a way that would rival any Disney villain.  “By the way, I just had the most illuminating conversation with Niall….”

Zayn bites the inside of his cheek.  “Oh?”

He shakes his head.  “For goodness sakes, Zayn.  I cannot believe you thought our Liam was having extramarital relations with his administrative assistant,” he tsks.  “All someone has to do is mention your name in passing, and Payno here instantly transfigures into a lovesick puppy.”

Liam makes a face.  “Don’t you think ‘lovesick puppy’ is a little too…too….”

“Accurate?” Harry deadpans, and Zayn snorts; he can’t help it.  “Anyway, I need to dash,” he announces.  “But before I forget, I wanted to tell you that if you’re looking for a good place for a rest cure, I know this ace retreat in Swansea—”

“Cheers, Harry,” Zayn cuts him off because _honestly._   The last thing anyone needs right now (or ever) is a holiday in Swansea. 

Harry shrugs.  “You don’t know what you’re missing.”  (Zayn decides he’s willing to take his chances.) 

After Harry’s gone, Zayn scooches closer to his husband.  “I’m never going to live this down, am I?” he sighs, swinging his legs back-and-forth off the side of the bed.  “The whole mix-up with Valerie, I mean.”

Liam grins.  “Nope.  Never.  Not a chance.”

Zayn gives a playful, melodramatic groan.  “I hate you.”

“I love you,” Liam declares after a beat, smoothing his thumb over the back of Zayn’s hand.  His voice is sure and his gaze, even surer.  “I love you, Zayn.  I’ve been afraid to say it lately, afraid you had stopped loving me, and I…well, I didn’t want to scare you off.”  His chest rises and falls a few times before he continues.  “I love you, Zayn.  So. So. Much.”

Zayn’s breath hitches.  The tonal switch is dramatic, sudden, unexpected.  It’s not how they do things.  They keep things light; they don’t get pulled down by gravity.  They banter and tease each other (sometimes mercilessly), but they both know it stems from real love.  They don’t have to get serious.  They don’t have to say exactly what they feel exactly when they feel it.  They don’t have to be _obvious_.  They _know_.

But thinking back to recent events, it’s possible he just assumed they did. 

Maybe love isn’t an allusion; maybe it shouldn’t be described with figurative language but with plain words with crystal clear meanings.  It shouldn’t be encrypted, shouldn’t be obscured by indecipherable riddles and haphazard puns.  Maybe love requires blunt, naked truths.  Maybe it demands full disclosure.

Maybe they’ve been doing this all wrong.

“Do me a favour, huh?” Liam asks.  He sounds tired again, shattered, and Zayn should probably let him get back to sleep soon.  “Tell me to slow down and refocus if I ever start to get to this point again.”

Zayn snorts.  “That all?  You didn’t even have to ask.”

“No, I’m serious,” Liam says earnestly.  “I know how stubborn I can be when it comes to work, so it won’t be easy.”  He squeezes Zayn’s hand.  “Promise me you’ll never let me lose sight of what matters most.”

“Absolutely, babe,” Zayn answers without a second’s hesitation.  Liam could've asked for the bloody moon right then, and Zayn would've taken his best whack at it. 

Of course, he’d never tell _Liam_ that.

(On second thought, maybe he would.  Not this very second, perhaps, but someday in the not-too-distant future. 

Full disclosure.  Baby steps.)

“I love you, too, Leeyum.”

Liam smiles contentedly.  He soon drifts off into a much-needed slumber, still holding onto his husband’s hand.  Liam’s finger twitches, brushes against Zayn’s wedding ring, the one with the fresh engraving inside that now matches his husband’s:

_For the rest of ours._

 

£.£.£.

 

**~ Swansea, two weeks later ~**

 

First off, it’s not really a retreat.  It’s a _spa hotel._

Second, the hotel isn’t actually in Swansea proper.  According to the brochure, they’re somewhere in “the heart of Wales” (a.k.a. the middle of nowhere), which to be perfectly candid, is never ideal. 

Except right now, it sort of is.

Being cut off from London without Wi-Fi has turned out to be a blessing.  Liam’s had the opportunity to rest and rejuvenate without any distractions following his release from hospital, and to give Harry credit, this whole spa idea was fucking brilliant.  Among Zayn’s many discoveries over the past twelve days, he’s learnt that the only thing better than spending hours in a Jacuzzi is spending hours with Liam in a Jacuzzi.

They’ve had time to talk, too— _really_ talk.  Apart from the few hours Zayn spends each afternoon in the hotel office fulfilling his work obligations remotely, they’ve spent every waking hour together.  Most mornings and every night, they’re curled up in bed discussing the things that matter most: hopes, dreams, ambitions, plans for a dog and maybe a couple of kids down the road….

Things have never been better, and it’s almost impossible to believe considering where they were only a few short weeks ago.

The only drawback has been the sex—the _lack_ of sex, to be specific.  And yeah, Zayn knows he has to be patient, knows it’s probably the last thing on Liam’s mind, but that doesn’t make it any easier.  The thing is, Liam _looks_ healthy.  Zayn’s had to endure days and days of watching his fit husband in little more than a towel or a robe, and it’s testing every fibre of his being.  If it weren’t for a quick wank in the shower now and then (or a drawn-out, unrushed one this particular morning while Liam was asleep), he’d probably go mad.

They’ve been living a mantra of ‘no secrets’ for nearly a fortnight.  They’ve talked through just about everything, but they haven’t talked about _that_ , haven’t mentioned how bloody long it’s been since they’ve been intimate.  It’s what’s on Zayn’s mind as he leaves the room that morning to get ice while Liam is still in the shower.  Zayn hates to admit it, hates to even _think_ it, but a small part of him wonders whether his husband is still attracted to him in that way.  He keeps wanting to bring it up, but it seems so shallow—selfish even.  Liam’s not ready, and that’s okay.  Zayn can wait.  Liam loves him, and that’s the important thing.  (That’s the _only_ thing.)

Everything else can wait.

That’s probably why Zayn’s not expecting it when he’s thrown against their hotel door the moment he steps back inside their room.  It knocks the breath out of him, makes him drop the ice bucket he’d been carrying.  He glances down and is relieved to see it landed upright.

“Shit, Liam, I—”

Liam’s mouth cuts him off, swallowing Zayn’s moan as he sags against the door.  It’s been so long since his husband’s kissed him like that.  ( _Too_ long.)

“What’s all this, babe?” Zayn murmurs when his mouth is his again.  He tries not to get too excited, just in case.

“Missed you,” Liam mumbles, peppering kisses along his jaw.

Zayn chuckles at that; he’s not sure how that’s possible since Liam couldn’t have gotten out of the shower that long ago.  The man’s only got a towel wrapped around his waist and his bare skin is still flush and heated to the touch. 

“I wasn’t gone that long, babe,” Zayn replies, running a finger down Liam’s chest as water droplets fall from his perfectly-carved shoulders, creating more damp pools on the shirt Zayn put on not even twenty minutes before.   “Just went down the hall for some ice.” 

“Yes, but you dawdle.”

“I do not dawdle,” Zayn humphs.

Liam pulls back and arches a brow.  “Yes, you do.  That trip took over four minutes.  You’re a proper dawdler, Zayn Malik-Payne.”

“So?” Zayn challenges.

“ _So_ , I could’ve been four minutes closer to fucking you right now.”

Zayn moans again as he wraps both arms around Liam’s neck.  His husband goes to kiss him, not sweet and chaste as all their kisses have been of late, but frantic and needy.  Liam’s long stubble scratches his skin, teeth graze against his bottom lip, and it feels good.  It feels fucking _amazing_. 

Somehow, Liam’s hands clamp onto his bum, and Zayn’s lifted off the ground.  His legs kick out, flail for a second before he locks them tightly around his husband’s waist.  Their lips never part as Liam presses him against the door, presses, too, against Zayn’s growing hardness.

And that’s when Zayn remembers.

“Fuck, put me down!” he shouts anxiously.  “Liam, put me down _now_!”

Liam drops him at once, and there’s that unreadable expression on the man’s face again before he turns away, tightening the towel around his waist.  Zayn’s about to follow after him until he spies the bucket, knocked over now with all the ice spilled out onto the floor.

He sighs as he sets the bucket right-side-up, then scoops the ice back in with his bare hands.  “Guess, I’ll need to make another trip,” he observes comically.

Liam doesn’t say a word.

Zayn bites his lip as he glances over in Liam’s direction.  His husband’s sat on the bed, facing away from him with shoulders slumped.

“Babe?” Zayn calls softly, creeping towards him.  He places a hand on his husband’s shoulder, and Liam jumps.  Zayn draws in a sharp breath.  “Babe?”

“Your hand; it’s f-freezing,” Liam shivers, and Zayn lets out the breath he was holding.

“Oh thank God; thought it was something else.”  Zayn coughs awkwardly.  He wishes his husband would look at him.  “About, uh, what happened, just now at the door—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Liam cuts him off, voice strained.

Zayn plops on the bed.  He lays his head on his husband’s shoulder, warms one of his hands by rubbing it against the towel covering Liam’s thigh.  Liam shifts away from him, just slightly but enough for Zayn to notice, enough for Zayn to say something.  “We’re…we’re alright, yeah?” he whispers.

“Yeah, just…maybe don’t do that.”

Concern floods Zayn’s chest.  “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”  He searches Liam’s eyes for any sign of pain, but they’re unreadable.  “Fuck, I shouldn’t have let you pick me up.  You’re not supposed to do anything strenuous for another week, and I shouldn’t have let myself get caught up like that.  It’s just that it’s been so long since we”—Zayn stops himself from sounding like a total inconsiderate twat—“not that it matters.  You take as much time as you need, babe.  We don’t have to do anything until you’re ready.”  He pats his husband’s thigh, and Liam makes a strangled sound.

“Don’t.  You’ll make me hard again.”

_Oh._

Discretely, Zayn peeks down, and there’s definitely some lingering evidence supporting Liam’s statement.  He swallows, tries not to think about how much he wants Liam in his mouth, how much he wants Liam everywhere.  “You…you want me to help you out with that?” 

“It’s fine,” Liam assures him tiredly, but his voice sounds anything but. 

Before two weeks ago, Zayn probably would’ve let the comment slide, but now he knows better.  “Liam, you _do_ know that I told you to set me down because I didn’t want you to hurt yourself, right?  I’d never reject you, not like that.”

Liam hums but doesn’t answer.  He still has the same look in his eyes, and Zayn’s not liking this at all.

“Talk to me, babe.” 

Liam exhales slowly.  “I was just thinking about what you said the other day, about why you started to believe I was cheating on you.”

“Babe, it was just a silly kiss on the cheek.  Like I said, I was proper pissed, and it’s all settled now.”

Liam shakes his head.  “No, I mean what happened later that night,” he clarifies.  “You told me you felt like I didn’t want you anymore, and…well, I’m so sorry.”

Zayn’s taken aback a little.  Truthfully, it’s a memory he’d rather forget—even if it makes sense in retrospect.  “I understand, babe.  You were literally exhausted.  You don’t have to apologise for that again; it’s water under the bridge.”

“No…there’s something else I wanted to tell you.”  Liam takes a deep breath, then looks at him with troubled eyes.  “That night…I was knackered but….”  He trails off and Zayn tries not to let his growing anxiousness show.  “I mean, I _wanted_ to have sex with you that night.  _God_ , I want to fuck you so bad right now, just….”

“Yes, babe?”

“Sometimes-I-get-scared-I-won’t-be-able-to-give-you-what-you-need,” Liam blurts out all at once, “like if I’m not at my best or whatever.”

Zayn’s certain he must have misheard the man.  Either that or Liam’s taking the piss.  He almost laughs until he catches a glimpse of his husband’s expression—sombre and excruciatingly earnest.  Zayn takes one of Liam’s hands, capturing it between his.  “Babe, tell me one time you haven't been able to give me what I needed—you know, in _that_ way.”

“Exactly,” Liam sighs, and Zayn doesn’t know what to say.  He _wants_ to say that Liam’s talking complete drivel, that Zayn practically gets a stiffy every time Liam walks into the bedroom wearing…well, anything really.  Then again, he doesn’t want to sound like he’s belittling his husband’s insecurities (as ridiculous as they are).

“I’m not sure I follow you, babe.”

“You’re always going on about how great the sex is,” Liam reveals, blushing, “and I just don’t want to, like, disappoint you.”

Zayn takes a moment to process.  “You’re afraid I’m only with you because of the sex, aren’t you?”

“N-no,” Liam stammers, and Zayn cocks his head to the side.  “Well maybe just a teeny-tiny bit?”

“I mean…I’m not gonna lie,” Zayn acknowledges, “the sex _has_ been pretty fucking mind-blowing from the beginning—from _before_ the beginning actually,” he corrects himself, thinking back to that first life-changing fuck in Bradford.  “But that’s not why I fell in love with you.”

“No?”

Zayn squeezes his husband’s hand tighter.  “No, I fell in love with my best mate, the one who likes comic books and sick tunes, the one who laughs at all my jokes, the one who gets on with my family—even Wali—”

“I like Wali.”

Zayn hopes his profound disapproval is apparent in the look he gives his husband then; he really does.  “Leeyum, don’t interrupt.”

Liam bites back a smile.  “Sorry.”

“Anyway, the point is that I fell in love with my best mate, and if he so happens to have a nice dick—like absolute top quality—well, I ain’t complaining.”

Liam’s cheeks turn a rosy pink.  “Dork.”

“Just stating the facts.”  Zayn drops his husband’s hand and gets to his feet.  “I could be mistaken, though,” he teases, “it’s been a while since I’ve seen it and all.”

“Maybe we could do something about that?” Liam suggests, starting to rise from the bed, but Zayn pushes him back down.

“As long as I do all the work.” 

“Just wait ‘til I get my strength back, Zayn Malik-Payne.”

“Yeah?” Zayn taunts, smirking down at him.  “What would you do?”  He starts to strip—slowly—turned on by the way Liam’s watching his every movement with hungry eyes.

Liam leans back on his hands.  “First, I’d finish fucking you against the door,” he says in a voice as smooth and decadent as a white chocolate truffle.  “Then, I’d fuck you over the sink so I could see your pretty arse taking all of my cock and your pretty face in the mirror as you screamed out my name.”

A shiver of arousal hits him, head-to-toe, and all he can think about is how Liam is a fucking menace.  The man brings dirty talk to a whole new level, and if it weren’t for that wank in the shower earlier, Zayn’s sure he would’ve already come in his pants after that little speech.

_Honestly._

He’s sure Liam knows it, too, the way he’s looking up at Zayn with a self-satisfied smirk.  Zayn forgets about the striptease then and concentrates on getting out of his clothes as fast as bloody possible. 

“God, you’re gorgeous,” Liam murmurs, reaching out to trail his fingertips down his husband’s sides.  Zayn should feel self-conscious.  He should feel the urge to hide himself, but he doesn’t.  He lets his husband stare, gives Liam ample time to admire, to drink him in as if it’s the first time they’ve done this.

Zayn feels a slight pressure on his hips, and he shuffles closer.  Soon, Liam is pressing a soft, wet kiss to his abdomen.  It’s romantic even though it probably shouldn’t be, not with the way his cock is hard and aching for attention only inches away.

“Missed you,” Liam murmurs against his skin, “missed _this_.” 

Zayn weaves his fingers through his husband’s hair.  “Want you so bad.”

“Yeah?”

“ _Yeah_ ,” Zayn confirms.  Liam pulls away then, crab-walking towards the centre of the bed.  Zayn chases after him, tugging at Liam’s towel until there’s nothing between them except the urgency to erase so much wasted time.  He grabs a hold of Liam’s length and licks from base to tip, swirling his tongue around the slit.

Liam’s tugs at his hair, urging him farther up the bed.  “As good as that feels, I want to fuck you.  It’s been so long.”

“ _Too_ long,” Zayn agrees.  He reaches in the bedside cabinet for the lube he’d been hoping to use at least once before the end of their stay.  He squirts a dollop on a fingertip and slicks up a few fingers.

“Want some help?” Liam offers huskily.

“Nah, I’m doing the work today, remember?  Besides, shouldn’t take long,” Zayn tells him, working the first finger inside his bum and steadying himself with the other hand. 

Liam raises an eyebrow, then glances meaningfully at his own erection as if to remind Zayn of its size.  (Zayn hasn’t forgotten.)

“Might’ve fingered myself a little in the shower earlier,” Zayn confesses.  He gasps as he adds a second finger, but he’s not sure if it’s due to the extra stretch or to the way Liam’s eyes darken with arousal at his admission.  Then again, Zayn’s probably putting on a good show:  hips writhing, eyelashes fluttering, biting his lip as he strains to prepare himself for Liam’s cock. 

“Were you thinking about anything?” Liam asks, draping his hands on his husband’s hips.

“Was thinking about you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, always you.  _Just_ you,” Zayn breathes out, falling forward as the tip of his finger brushes against the desired spot.  He’s quivering with need.  All he wants is Liam.  Inside him.  Now.  Always.

He’s ready.  Fuck, he’s ready.  He wipes his fingers clean on the sheet as Liam hurriedly slicks himself up.  When Zayn climbs off him, Liam makes a desperate, strangled noise. 

“Where…where you going, babe?”

Zayn straddles him the opposite way, reverse cowboy.  He stares straight ahead into the massive mirror above the chest of drawers and smirks at their reflection.  “Just giving you that view you said you wanted earlier,” he replies sweetly, wiggling his arse as Liam props himself up with another pillow in order to take full advantage of the ‘view’ Zayn’s offering him. 

Zayn lowers himself onto his husband’s cock and neither one of them can say a word for a while after that.

He begins to move.  He squats, one arm behind him for balance as he fucks himself down on Liam’s length again and again.  It’s so good—the anchoring hands pressing into his hips, the full-up feeling he’s been craving for weeks, how he can see _everything_ in that blessed mirror. 

After a while, his thigh muscles begin to burn, and he wishes he would have joined Liam on a few more trips to the gym.  Zayn’s gyrations become sloppier and sloppier, but he doesn’t slow down, not when he begins to feel a bead of perspiration on his forehead, not when his legs turn to jelly.

Liam sits up suddenly, and Zayn collapses against him, panting heavily.  They rest for a moment, back to chest, skin to skin, until Zayn can’t take it anymore.  He rocks backwards, eliciting a low growl from the man behind him.  Liam wraps an arm around Zayn’s waist, pulling him farther down onto his cock as he angles his hips upward.  One hard thrust and Zayn’s thrown forward onto his hands and knees.  Before long, Liam’s kneeling behind him, realigning himself and Zayn can’t even.

“ _Liam_.”

Liam grunts in acknowledgment, and Zayn thinks he’s won, thinks Liam’s ready to relinquish control again…until he feels a hand on his lower back pushing him onto his stomach.  Zayn’s about to reprimand his husband again when—

“Wanna see you spread eagle,” Liam says huskily, and Zayn wonders if either one of them is going to make it out of this alive.

Liam groans as he enters him again, and even though Zayn’s thoroughly fucked open by now, the new position makes everything _that_ much better. 

“ _So fucking tight_.”

Zayn mewls an unintelligible response into the duvet.  He’s forgotten how to talk, how to think.  He lies face-down, legs sprawled, toes curling while Liam humps him from behind—quick, shallow thrusts as he covers Zayn’s body completely with his own.  

When Liam stops suddenly, Zayn braces himself because he assumes it’s the calm before the storm, assumes it’s Liam catching his breath before giving everything he’s got (or hasn’t got).  Zayn fully expects his husband to start fucking him into the mattress, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he kisses Zayn’s shoulder, then rolls his hips in the most delicious way.  Zayn keens, spreading his legs wider.  Liam does it again, agonisingly slow, hips making one fluid movement before his cock is buried deep inside Zayn, pinning him down for several seconds—seconds that feel like an eternity, an infinitude of pleasure.

Liam cries out, biting at Zayn’s shoulder as he comes.  The next thing Zayn knows, he’s on his back.  They share a needy, impassioned kiss as Liam wraps a hand around him, coaxing out the orgasm he’d been suppressing for so long. 

Then, they fall asleep, warm and content, nestled in each other’s arms.

 

£.£.£.

 

“What’s the matter, babe?” Liam asks the following morning, nuzzling up behind him.  Liam’s only just woken up but somehow his husband can sense that something is off.

“It’s…nothing.”

It’s a gorgeous day, cold but sunny.  There’s a gorgeous view from their hotel window, too: sunlight cascades in long waves over the unspoilt Welsh countryside.  Rolling verdant hills, dotted with hedge plants, bronze-dipped trees, and craggy rocks, stretch as far as the eye can see before finally disappearing into the distant mist.  It’s the stuff fairy-tales are made of.  It’s perfect (not that he’d ever tell Harry that).  

In fact, Zayn couldn’t imagine a better backdrop for his current set-up, wrapped up in a thick fluffy duvet with a cuppa at his bedside and the man he loves beside him.

In short, he should be happy.  (Spoiler alert:  he’s not; he’s fucking miserable.)

“Babe?”

Zayn tears his gaze away from the window.  “Sorry, Leeyum.  Nothing’s the matter.”

Liam regards him sternly.  “Hey, we talked about this.  No secrets.”

Zayn groans inwardly; he knew this whole ‘no secrets’ thing would come back to bite him in the ass.  “It’s our last day here,” he says, and it’s hardly a proper explanation.  The thing is, Liam’s only just started to get his strength back, and well…Zayn doesn’t mean to be greedy, but he wishes they could have a little more time before they rush back to London and all that goes with it.

“We’re supposed to check out tomorrow morning?” Liam asks, brow furrowed.  “What’s today?”

“Wednesday.”

“Huh, well a few more days can’t hurt,” his husband muses, eyes sparkling in the bright morning sunlight.  “Might as well go back in to work on a Monday, right?  We could stay the weekend—if you don’t mind, that is….”

Zayn grins stupidly at him.  He feels like crying, and he has no idea why.  “Yeah,” he manages at last, “yeah, a few more days would be brilliant.”

“Good,” Liam yawns, eyelids already starting to droop.  “You sort out the arrangements, yeah?  I’m going back to sleep.  Love you.”

Zayn knows he should probably see about extending their reservation, but he doesn’t budge, not yet.  It’s his new favourite thing, watching Liam sleep.  In the past, it’s usually been the other way around, but Zayn thinks this is something he could definitely grow accustomed to.  He leans down to place a gentle kiss on his husband’s forehead.  “Love you, too,” he whispers.  “Always you, Leeyum.  Just you.”

Liam makes a soft sighing sound and curls into his side.  As his husband drifts off, Zayn can’t help but think how this whole experience has been a wake-up call for them.  In truth, it’s been a disguised gift, a fresh start, a new beginning.  Then again, every day with Liam is like a new beginning: a chance to uncover something he never knew, a chance to fall in love with him like it’s the first time.  

Zayn’s already had a thousand beginnings with this man, and he’s greedy because he wants countless more.  One for every star in the sky.  (One for every star in the fucking _cosmos_.)  He wants nothing less than a world-without-end love with Liam, and it’s only natural because Zayn hates endings.  That’s why his and Liam’s story doesn’t have one. 

(And it never will.)

 

**The ~~End~~ Beginning**

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, I am so emotional right now. It's hard to believe that this journey has come to an end. This is officially the end of Money Moves; however, I might release a couple of drabbles from Liam's POV on [Tumblr](http://zqua1d.tumblr.com/) since people have expressed interest. We'll see. ;)
> 
> If you liked this story, you might check out my other wip: [The New Teacher](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12661767/chapters/28859127). Also, stay tuned because I might have another fic or two coming soon. xx
> 
> Thank you again for reading and for all the unbelievable support. And until we meet again...much love! ~Maree xx

**Author's Note:**

> Every time you leave a comment or kudos, a writer gets its wings. xx  
> My tumblr: [zqua1d](http://zqua1d.tumblr.com/)


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